


Pretty Boy

by kianisabitch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Bucky Barnes Is a Good Bro, Civil War Team Captain America, Daddy Issues, Gay Peter Parker, Homeless Peter Parker, Homelessness, Homophobia, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, LGBTQ Themes, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Poor Peter Parker, Precious Peter Parker, Prostitution, Protective Avengers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Sam Wilson, Secret Identity, Self-Hatred, Sexual Assault, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Underage Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:35:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianisabitch/pseuds/kianisabitch
Summary: Every week, Bucky Barnes takes the same Late Night Brooklyn Bound Q Train. And every week he sees the same teenager wearing slutty, revealing clothing, with dollar bills tucked into the waistband of his booty shorts. Every week the man wants to reach out to the boy, get him help and save him from this cruel world. But every week the man watches the boy continue on, cursing himself for not reaching out and trying to help. But one day, the man finally does.ORPeter is kicked out by May's abusive, homophobic boyfriend and turns to underage prostitution in order to make ends meet.





	1. City of Colored Lights

**Author's Note:**

> 'Pretty Boy' is a heavily triggering piece. Read between the * 's for all warnings.
> 
> *Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Homophobia, Underage Prostitution, Rape, Assault, Violence, Suicidal thoughts, Depression, Bruises and Cuts on Bodies, Implied self harm*
> 
> The above list will be updated to reflect other triggers found in this novel.

Peter Parker sat perched like a cat on the faded blue, scratched plastic seats of a Brooklyn Bound Q Train. His ratty converse sneakers sat flat against the tacky plastic, his knees were bent, pulled closed to his chest and chin resting on top of them. He was trying to keep warm in the slightly chilly fall air, by conserving his body heart. His curly, light brown hair stuck up at every angle and occasionally, the boy would reach a small shaking hand up to smooth it down between his calloused fingers.  

 

The boy was effectively hiding his outfit with his folded body. The little ripped denim booty shorts, barely covering half his ass, had been carefully hidden out of sight by the position of Peter’s thin legs pulled up against his chest. His pink crop top, proudly proclaiming ‘Daddy’s Little Princess’, had been squashed down by the legs as well. The areas of the shirt that were not successfully covered by his legs, were hidden under a large black and white flannel. The short boy was absolutely drowning in it, the garment hanging off of him in fabric cascades of black and white. The large outerwear made the boy look even smaller, sadly even younger than one might think at first glance.  

 

For all intents and purposes, one looking at Peter Parker would see a regular teenage boy heading home after hanging out at a friend's house for a little too long. They might see a few cuts and bruises, or perhaps question his fashion sense, but they would only see what they wanted to see. People living ‘normal’ live tended to overlook people that were less fortunate than themselves. 

 

For that reason, when they looked at him they wouldn't see anything but the most normal version of Peter they could fathom. They wouldn’t see a teenage prostitute, or a high risk gay teen kicked out of his house by an abusive family member or a young man starving to death because he didn’t have enough money to survive. And even if they did see any of those things, Peter knew they wouldn't comment or vocalize their thought. For this was New York City, the city of colored lights that never faded, where runaways ran the night and prostitutes lurked in every alleyway. It was only polite to ignore those you pitted, let them fade into the background and refuse to acknowledge their existence. Being a prostitute meant that Peter was viewed as lesser by most ‘upstanding’ members of society. They didn’t care that he had been forced into this life, that this was the boy;s last option. They kept their eyes closed to difference and they saw narrowly. 

 

The boy shifted in his seat, pull his legs closer to his body. His stomach rumbled and he clenched his eyes shut. He hadn’t eaten in nearly 48 hours and his body hated him for it. He needed food to survive, but money was tight and he needed to work another night to have expendable money to spend on a luxury like food. Most would think food was a necessity, but not Peter. To Peter, food was a luxury he often cut from his life when money was tighter than normal.  

 

If you looked closely at the boy, you could see that he looked like a walking skeleton. Peter was far too skinny for a boy his age, his boney arms looked like twigs you could snap in half without exerting any effort. His cheeks were hallowed, the sickly pale skin dusted with glittering bronzer and lip gloss smeared around his chapped and slightly bloody, pale pink lips. His makeup had started off perfect earlier in the night, he had spent almost thirty minutes applying it in a fast food bathroom when the sun had just started to go down. He always tried to look perfect when he went out, it made him seem more desirable. 

 

But the boy was anything but desirable now. He looked sickly and sad, like a child who had no business walking the streets at night. The makeup, which had once been a sign of maturity, was now ruined. Like an oil spill in an ocean, all the natural beauty had been sucked up and doused in black, in darkness and chaos and the harshness of reality. There was nothing beautiful, or glamorous about a teenage prostitute. There was nothing positive about something so undeniably illegale, immoral and repulsive. Something that stole the livelihood of children and forced them to grow up far too early. 

 

When the boy shifted his head back to lean against the wall of the subway car, his chin was revealed to be a horrific painting of blacks and blues, greens and purples. Finger shaped bruises from where too many men had forced the boy to look at them or take their heavy lengths into his small, innocent mouth. Pink and red hickies lay like dying rose all across his skin, mixing with the little finger shaped bruises.   

 

It was a late night train, the same late night train the boy took every week in fact. Late Night Brooklyn Bound Q Trains always seemed to attract a specific group of people. Every week the same crowd of people made their way towards Brooklyn at nearly midnight. They never talked to each other, but they were always there. The same people on the same train, little gears in a clog that didn’t work without each other. 

 

A man leaning against a worn cane and holding a paper cup clanging with coins that he had long stopped shaking hours ago, when the man had realized the other people on late night trains were as desperate for money as he was, stood leaning heavily against the wall of the train. A young dark skin woman, cradling a sleeping toddler to her chest, the child's long dark brown curly hair sticking up in every direction. There was a young, 20-something man supporting an obviously inebriated woman only a few feet away from the seated boy. A slim, yet quite muscular man sat hunched over his large frame on the other side of the subway car. Long strands of dark hair fell into his face, partly covering his fierce dark eyes, and the folds of his worn leather jackets illuminated under the flickering lights. 

 

It was the usual crowd of faces on this particular late night train and Peter couldn’t help but feel right in place with the others. A teenager wearing slutty, revealing clothing and dollar bills tucked into his waistband was not out of place on this train. Peter was just another dredge of society heading towards Brooklyn late on a Tuesday night.  

 

Tuesday nights were the nights the boy took to the streets of Brooklyn. He routinely hid himself away in the shadowy alleys next to historic Brooklyn Brownstones. He looked out of place next to the luxury apartments, a young prostitute living a life so different than the wealthy occupants of those buildings. But Peter was good at being invisible, and being one of the shadows cam easily to him.   

 

He tended to make more money on Brooklyn nights because he attracted more higher end, richer men than his usual demographic. Brooklyn nights, the boy could be seen tucking multiple hundred dollar bills into the waistband of skimpy shorts or the silky bralettes he wore on occasion (when the boy was trying to attract men who liked their twinks young and effeminate).

 

However, the boy couldn’t risk going to Brooklyn everynight of the week. In Manhattan, he tended to attract young middle class man, questioning their sexuality and looking for a quick fuck with a prostitute they could easily find on any street corner in a certain part of the city. However, in Brooklyn he attracted repressed, wealthy gay men. Men with children and wifes who would miss them if they disappeared more than once a week.

 

After May’s boyfriend had kicked the boy out, he had fled to Manhattan. That day had been one of the hardest in Peter’s entire life. When he had turned his lock in the creaky apartment door, he had automatically started trudging towards his room to start homework and hide away from May’s new boyfriend Evan. He hadn’t really known the man at the time, but he got bad vibes from the older man and he forced himself to stay away. Everytime he was within a foot of Evan his spider sense tingled and his body went into fight and flight.  

 

Peter never truly read into his bad feelings on the man, rather opting to steer clear and let the situation be. Evan seemed to make his Aunt happen, and the boy refused to do anything to sacrifice May’s happiness. 

 

Peter wishes he had done something, however. Read into the bad vibes and confront the feelings of dread he felt anytime he was around the man. He wishes he had done something sooner, for on that day when Peter entered his apartment his life changed forever. Aunt May had been cowering in the corner, next to a sadistically smiling Evan. The pale skin of her danity face was stained with an eerie black eye and large blue and purple hand prints stood stark against the white skin of her neck. 

 

Evan had her arm held tight in a death grip, he was shaking her and demanding she tell him where Peter was. When the boy had walked into the room, Evan had dropped his Aunt’s arm and stalked closer to the boy. He was holding a ripped black backpack in one hand and shoved it at the boy. He then took the other arm back, swinging his fist over and over again towards Peter’s face. “I don’t ever want to see you around here again faggot, or a swear to god I will kill her.”

 

The words rung in Peter’s head as he dashed from the apartment, down the steps and onto the first train out of Queens. Blood and tears stained his skin as he made his escape, but the boy did not care because he desperately needed to escape.  

 

That first night in Manhattan had been the hardest because it was the night the boy discovered the contents of the torn backpack. Several crumpled printouts from gay pornsites the boy had frequented (with the word ‘faggot’ scrawled in messy black handwriting), four t-shirts, two pairs of pants, an old metro card and 32 dollars and 48 cents. 

 

The boy wasn’t left with much to live on, at first he thought he would be forced to crawl back to his old apartment and beg Evan for forgiveness. But slowly and steadily, he made it work. Finding other young prostitutes walking the streets, helped him find alleyways to sleep in and money to earn. It ashamed him to sell his body for cash, turn his entire purpose into pleasuring others, but Peter did what he had to do to survive. He kept his conscious clear by only spending money on food and more revealing and appealing clothing to the older men he targeted. The measly amount of money left over, the boy tucked into the side of his shoe, waiting to be able to get May out of the apartment and hopefully to an at-risk woman’s center with enough money to start her life again. It was slow work, but Peter was going to get his Aunt out of that abusive hellhole if it was the last thing he did. 

 

Other than thinking about keeping his Aunt safe, Peter had never looked back at the borough he used to live in. Queens was not part of the boy’s weekly rotation, because the boy was far too terrified. Peter was too scared to let even a small part of his old life back in to his current one. He refused to sell himself on the same streets he used to roam after school; offer his body up like an object to the owners of local business he used to frequent. Or worse, run into Evan while he was trying to earn money in one of the saddest, most degrading ways possible.  Peter didn’t have much dignity left, but he held onto the small shards he had like they were his most prized possessions. 

 

The subway car jostled and screeched as it pulled into the station. Peter grit his teeth as the cold hit his body as he stood up. His skinny, bruised legs shook in the late October chilly air. It would be colder when the boy reached outside, so in preparation he took the large black and white flannel off and wrapped the fabric around his skinny waist. The warm flannel hugged his legs and the boy sighed, at least he would be slightly warmer. 

 

The pads of his fingers ran across his skinny arms, trying to keep the now exposed flesh warm. He didn’t have enough money for a winter coat, and the men he tried to attract would pass him over if he wore one. They wanted to see a large expanse of creamy white skin. Peter’s was tarnished, but at least he showed it off. The boy often wondered if the bruises and cuts turned the sick men on even more. Sometimes they would trace over them, pressing until the bruise was large or ripping cuts apart by sinking their dirty fingernails in and pulling. Peter was the perfect fantasy of a used and abused whore, underage and easily thrown around. The men he catered to liked it hard, rough and fast. They liked to pull his hair and slap his ass and call him baby boy, until the words felt burned into his flesh. They tried to convince Peter that he wanted it, he was being paid after all. But Peter never wanted it and the money was always a means to an end, rather than consent. Peter never consented, never wanted it and being raped for money was still rape. Often the men wouldn’t even give him the money. They would leave him passed out, bloody and beaten to a pulp, left covered in dried semen and robbed of the rest of the money he had been stashing on his body. 

 

Peter ran his small fingers over a large handprint bruise on his lower arm. It hurt to the touch, but he was trying to keep warm in the chilly air. 

 

The boy bit his lip, letting blood gurgle to the surface. The train finally stopped moving and the boy consequently got ready for the doors to slide open and to hurry off into the night. But before he could exit, a man cleared his gruff voice next to the boy. 

 

Peter stared up at the stranger through his long, dark eyelashes. It was the muscular man who had been hunched over on the opposite side of the train. He had his leather jacket folded over a peculiar metal prosthetic arm and long hair pulled into a messy man bun (several pieces of hair had escaped and fallen into his face). The man looked familiar, yet foreign all at the same time. He looked like a friend, but like someone who could hurt him in a seconds notice. Peter was a superhero, so it wasn’t easy to hurt him. In fact, Mr. Stark had once told him that he was stronger than Captain America himself. That thought made a smile dance across his lips, but Peter quickly felt it drop from his face. 

 

The boy didn’t want to think about his mentor. He had been so fortunate when Mr. Stark had recruited him, built his suit and given him a chance at greatness. After the whole homecoming fiasco, the two had been close. Peter even thought about Tony as a father in some senses. Those paternal feelings were the same reasons the boy hadn’t reached out to Tony after he had been kicked out. He was a disappointment and he wasn’t worthy of Tony Stark’s attention. He was too broken and he didn’t even want to think of Mr. Stark. 

 

The man standing next to him shifted his body, the metal glinting under the lights. Peter squinted his eyes, he suddenly knew who this man was. He had fought this man in an airport in Germany. This man was an enemy with his mentor, with his father figure. This man was dangerous. What if he knew who Peter was? What if he was here to combat Spider-Man or to hurt him. 

 

The doors slid open and Peter went to run, but the man stopped him by softly laying a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Hold on Punk,” Peter froze, wanting to run away and leave. But the doors slid back shut before he could make his escape. As soon as they were closed, the man removed his arm from Peter’s shoulder. 

 

“I’m sorry I touched you without permission and made you miss your stop kid,” His voice was rough and low and his dark eyes traced over the injuries on Peter’s skin dangerously. For a second Peter thought the man might actually hurt him, or accuse him of being Spider-Man and kick his ass in retaliation.

 

But despite the man’s menacing demeanor, he looked kind. His eyes were soft, he looked like he gave good hugs and like he truly cared about the boy in front of him. “I’ve seen you here before, actually I’ve seen you here every week for months kid. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but every week you’re in less and less clothing and you’re more and more beat up ” His soft eyes ran over Peter’s bruises once again, “I know what you’re doing kid and I know you don’t need a lecture about it, but I can’t help keep myself from talking to you about it for any longer. You know this is dangerous, it’s  not something you want to be messing around with kid. I can help get you find a shelter if you need, or help you find a job or you can even come stay with me if you need to. I have a couple of roommates, but I’m sure they would all love you kiddo.” The man’s eyebrows furrowed, he looked like he wanted to reach out and give the small boy a hug. 

 

“You remind me of someone I love kiddo, someone as adorable and small and reckless as you.” He shook his head fondly,  “My best friend used to go getting himself beat up all the time, he used to put himself last and everyone else before him. He was a tiny scrap like you, reckless and passionate, willing to do anything.” 

 

Peter umcontrnly shifting, crossing his arms to cover the word ‘daddy’ on his chest. It made him feel dirty, having his place in life as a whore proclaimed largely on his chest. He felt ashamed, like he was letting enhanced beings down. Half a year ago, Peter would’ve done anything to be an avenger. But, now the boy knew he was too dirty, too pathetic for that title. He would never be a an avenger, he would only be a disappointment. 

 

“I can’t let you walk off this train yet another time, to go get beaten and raped by a stranger.” His voice was full of conviction, hard and soft all at the same time. “ I can’t let that happen to you again kid. You’re too young for that to happen. You’re too young sweetheart, too young.”

 

Peter wanted to responded, convince the man that he was wrong. But Peter felt like his voice was stuck in his throat. He was terrified that if he opened his mouth, the man would recognize his voice, recognize him. He was sure the Winter Soldier would not be as sympathetic to the obnoxious superhero who he had fought with in Germany. He would probably laugh in Peter’s face, retract any help he had offered and leave the boy once again. 

 

The boy was also far too proud to accept help from this man. He knew that he desperately needed it, but the boy was trying to convince himself that he had it under control. He was going to make money and help his Aunt escape Evan and go back to school and finally start talking to Mr. Stark again. His super suit had not been included in his backpack when Evan had kicked him out and he effectively had not been Spider-Man for months. Infact, all remnants of that part of his past life were gone. The boy was far too malnourished for his enhanced healing to work and he felt like his body was reminding himself that he was pathetic. 

 

“Please let me help you…” The man pleaded, but Peter simply stared down at his torn white sneakers, toeing against the dirty floor of the subway car. He couldn’t accept the help, even if he wanted to. This was his life now and even if he was Peter Parker (or even Spider-Man), he couldn’t accept help from Bucky Barnes. He was on the wrong side of this war, the rogues wouldn’t want to touch him with a ten foot pole. He was basically Tony Stark’s son, a traitor. He had fought them, he didn’t deserve love or help or anything the man was offering. 

 

The man’s eyes glanced down sadly, as if he was reading Peter’s mind and knew he had failed his mission to help the boy. He wasn’t going to help this boy tonight. Maybe, he wouldn’t get to help him at all.  

 

The train pulled into the next station and Peter was sure this was the stop he would get off on. He couldn’t afford to stay here any longer, he couldn't stay with this man and take advantage of the help he so desperately needed and wanted.

 

The boy had to go work tonight. He had to earn money, and save up to help his Aunt. He had to sell himself on the streets, because that was the only thing he was good for. He was a whore and he had to go live his life whether or not this man wanted him to. His days of being a superhero were in the past, his days of being normal and functional, of being a regular teenager were all in the past. He was a whore now, a grungy part of the seedy NYC nightlife he had grown up dreading. 

 

“Please…” The man begged, “Just let me help you...”

 

But Peter had already made up his mind, he was leaving this train. He shook his head, mumbling a soft ‘no’. 

 

“Alright kiddo,” The man sighed, “I’ll see you next week, just please take care of yourself.” 

 

Peter shrugged his shoulders, feeling the fabric of his pink shirt crinkling. He knew he would not be staying safe tonight, or any night after this one for that matter. This was his life now and he didn’t have time to dwell on what he couldn’t have. 

 

The door clanged open and Peter went to move off the train, but the arm stopped the boy once again by softly grabbing his arm. “At least take this kiddo” The man sighed in a defeated manner and he laid the leather jacket on Peter’s shoulders. “I want you to stay warm and it’s the least I can do. 

 

Peter wanted to object, force the jacket back into the man’s hand. But before he could act, the man had gently pushed him out onto the subway platform. The train clanged away and Peter was left sighing and shrugging his arms into a worn leather jacket. He hadn’t wanted to keep it, but he couldn’t help but being thankful that he now had it. It smelled good, like pencil shavings and cologne. It was warm and made him feel safe, like he was getting a hug from a friend. 

 

“Thanks Bucky” The boy mused to himself, turning and walking towards the steps. He needed to forget about the encounter and move on, he needed to make money and he needed to forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of a new project I've been working on. I have a general direction of where I want this to go, but i also write for my readers far more than I write for myself. So if you want to see something in this fic, leave a comment and try to inspire me. I'm open and can't wait to hear what folks think !!


	2. Everything is Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, read the tags and stay safe. This fic is triggering and should only be read if you're in a good place.

Peter Parker lay sprawled out like a butterfly mid flight, on the cold asphalt of a Brooklyn alleyway on a dreary early morning of a new day. The soft underside of his thighs and upper calves scratched against the concrete, creating little pockets of blood on the surface of his skin- starkly contrasting the pale white color. They gurgled up and trails of blood spilled down the curve of his skinny legs like little hot springs steaming, or volcanoes continuously erupting. 

 

When the boy shifted in even the slightest, most minute way, the blood would veer of course and create another swirling trail across his paper white skin; dripping and landing in little puddles of scarlet liquid on the cold asphalt. It looked like it was raining, but in a more sadistic and concerning way. 

 

Hand shaped bruises glistened every time he moved. The early morning light poured in from the opening of the alleyway, reflecting off of dented trash cans and discarded empty beer cans. Dark blues and purples bleeding into green and yellow hues at the edges of the bruises  looked like storm clouds in the horizon, or flower petals rustling and tumbling to the ground in a warm spring breeze. 

 

He hated the bruises, despised the way they seemed to ruin his perfect porcelain skin. They made him a canvas for somebody else's ruthless painting. An object to be pushed and pulled and beaten until it finally failed and he finally broke. And once he broke, Peter was terrified he would never be whole again.

 

The bruises truly did make him feel broken. However, in a strange way the bruises also  enthralled the boy in an almost unexplainable way. They made Peter feel like he was a work of art. Laying there, his body felt like a siren luring men in or a beacon attracting the truly evil in this world. His entire existence felt like an advertisement, calling and yearning for others to use and abuse him.

 

At first it hadn’t been intentional. It had simply started with the boy’s knowledge that this men, fucking disgusting men, were drawn to him. The curve of his ass attracted lingering stares, and the bruises from Flash and bullies at school, peeking from the sides of t-shirts and pants hems enticed those who considered pain their weakness. He knew they were staring at him on subway rides to school or walks to Ned’s apartment or when he used to visit art museums by himself just to people watch every ‘cute art guy’ his eyes could see. When he was a younger teen, he somewhat liked the attention because it made him feel special. He was ‘jailbait baby’ and he owned being a cute, young twink that could make the older men wild. He was in control of the situation and could flaunt what he had with no consequences. Teens were supposed to explore their sexuality, it was completely normal, but they should only explore in a safe and consensual way. And never with men far older than them, men who only wanted to hurt and hurt and hurt and steal innocence like it was their job. 

 

However when Evan had kicked him out, the situation suddenly felt so undeniably different than it had before. For the first time the boy realized how truly concerning the looks were, and he was more vulnerable than ever. He had nowhere to go at the end of the day, no home to return to when the game felt too real and he wanted out from a situation that felt too risky. 

 

He used to be protected by his status as a minor, but these men weren’t scared of minors- they were turned on by them. They didn’t mind if it was illegal, because doing it with someone so young was part of their twisted fantasy. They wanted to steal childhood innocence and ruin children. Literal children, who could not consent. Who were pushed around, used and abused by these men with no way of expressing their wants. They had no say in the situation, scrambling for dollar bills if the man was ‘kind enough’ to pay them for stealing their innocence. They were vulnerable and young, so fucking young, and they were the saddest of the victims of these horrific crimes. 

 

On the streets, the boy had no way of hiding the extensive bruising on his body. He couldn’t hide the little finger shaped marks from where he had been forced to take someone's length into his waiting mouth, or when he his jaw had been forced up to look into their eyes as they hurt him. He couldn’t hide the purple and blue handprints on his inner thighs and trailing over his hips, from where his legs had been forced apart so he could be fucked by them like a rag doll. He couldn’t hide the bruises on the back of his head and on his upper neck or above his ankles, from when the boy had given up on all hope and banged his head on a subway wall or pinched his skin until it hurt enough that he could even start to forget.

 

He couldn’t hide the fucking bruises and they made the boy even more vulnerable, even more at risk than before. They made him a target for those who hurt like it was a game. Cat chasing mouse, predator chasing prey or more realistically, sadistic old man chasing vulnerable child. 

 

The boy had no way of standing up for himself when he was in danger. He was now at the mercy of strangers on the street, people who wanted to hurt him. To fuck him. To watch his body bleed and bruise and contort in a million painful ways. They didn’t care if the boy broke in the end, because to them 60 dollars bought the right to break Peter. He sold himself out of necessity, out of a need to survive. But, 60 fucking dollars was not the price of his humanity. He was more than a cheap fuck. More than a whore. More than this world was telling him he was. He was more, he fucking had to be more.

 

He used to be Spider-Man. He knew that in theory he still was Spider-Man, but he didn’t feel like he was Spider-Man still. If he was still Spider-Man he could not only protect himself from this cruel world, but also protect others as well. He had physical strength far greater than even Captain America himself. However, the boy was terrified to use it in this situation. In the saddest, most fucked up way, the boy was terrified of hurting others. Currently, the others he was risking hurting had hurt him first. They were vicious and horrible, the scum of this earth and crueler than no other. However, Peter couldn’t hurt them because he was too righteous, morally conscious and simply kind to hurt others. He refused to stoop to their level, to turn into the people who feared with every ounce of his entire being.

 

When Peter had first gained his powers, the fleeting thought of retaliating against Flash and the other bullies had crossed his mind at first. A part of him had desperately wanted payback, some sort of justice to make it all seem alright. However, the boy now understood that hurting others was not a form of payback, hurting others was a form of cowardice. It would be the actions of a scared and harmed little boy, not the actions of a man who truly understood his place in the world and the weight and responsibility of his own powers. At this moment in time Peter was that scared little boy, but he strived to be the man.

 

In a strange way, Peter was a pacifist. He exclusively used his powers for good, refusing to use them in any way that could promote self gain or selfishness. The boy was probably too self sacrificing in that way, refusing to use his powers even when he was sitting starving and beaten on the streets- even when men were raping him using force and pushing him around until he broke.

 

The boy never used his powers for anything but helping others, because when it came down to it the boy genuinely believed in peace. If he could wake up tomorrow and trade his powers for world peace, the boy would do it. With great power, came great responsibility. Peter would use that responsibility for good and good exclusively. It was self sacrificing sure, but the boy held his morals and ideals in the greatest regards. 

 

However even if the boy did not hold these moral beliefs, he would not use his powers outside of the suit. For the boy was terrified of his powers being discovered by others and he was even more terrified of being exposed as the superhuman he was. Mutant experimentation was currently running rampant (strongholds of this evil usually being in larger cities like New York) and the boy wasn’t ready to open himself up to this looming threat of danger.  

 

The only thing worse than him being a cheap whore, was the thought of the boy being snatched up off of the streets and being experimented on like he was a feral animal. Held captive, unable to truly escape and reduced to nothing more than a helpless person, considered to be less than human and stuck inside a lab until he died an early death or was so mutated and deformed that his loved ones no longer recognized him. 

 

Peter slowly turned his neck to the side, letting his curly hair flop lazily into his dark eyes and softly connecting the side of his face with the rough concrete of the ground. The rancid smell of vomit burned the insides of his nostrils and the boy gagged. Acid sloshed against the back of his tongue, threatening to gurgle up and spill down the front of his pink t-shirt (already stained by a sticky white substance the boy had begrudgingly assumed was half dried semen). However, the boy choked back his own vomit, refusing to feel even more disgusting than he already felt, and let his eyes wander. 

 

Next to Peter, a man lay was passed out on the concrete. He was wearing a thick, army green military jacket, a ripped black t-shirt displaying some sort of heavy metal band emblem, and industrial looking steel toed boots with little metal studs surrounding the top of the shoes. Dog tags were tangled together and slumped onto the ground from around his neck- giving the man the appearance of someone actually in the military rather than just using the aesthetic as a costume or way to look tough.

 

For a second the boy thought the man might be dead and he started to feel himself panic. Peter wasn’t sure what to do if the man truly was dead. Run away or stay where he was and call the police- the boy had no idea what to do in this situation. If he called the police the boy would probably be arrested for underage prostitution or perhaps they would interpret it differently and he would be questioned about the deceased man raping him. It was hard to tell which way the police officer would go but nether option sounded appealing to the boy.

 

Blessing his lucky stars, the boy quickly he calmed himself greatly when he heard low snores rumbling from the man’s heavy chest at a steady interval. The man was definitely alive. Asleep, but most certainly alive. 

 

The sleeping man was clutching a wad of dollar bills close to his chest in his left hand. It appeared to be far more money than the flat rate Peter had demanded before the ‘transaction’ started, the man had wound up burning through another hundred dollars for the privilege of choking the boy, and Peter squinted to get a closer look at the stack of money. 

 

However, the boy was too far away to get a good look at the stack of bills. Frustrated, Peter peeled his small body from the ground. He felt like a piece of gum being unstuck from the bottom of a chair, wincing as his sore muscles screamed and bruises ached in agony. His ass felt like it was on fire and the boy squinted  his eyes a few times, trying to chase away the unwelcome memories of last night.

 

The man had requested a ‘hard fuck’, and the boy had obliged for the right price. However looking at the fat wad of money in the man’s hand, it was clear the man had not followed through on his end of the deal and was planning to skip out on Peter before he had payed. Luckily the man was too intoxicated to follow through with that intent and was left passed on on the cold concrete ground of an alleyway. 

 

Peter’s slim fingers prodded at the space between his waistband and where his boney hips protrude like mountains from his skin. Feeling nothing there the boy knew his money was gone, so clearly in the hands of the disgusting man and not with the boy who had earned it. 

 

A grimace flashed across his face as Peter tiptoed over to the sleeping man, planning on retrieving the crumpled wad of bills and running as far away as possible before the man woke up. He pulled the jacket from it had fallen on the ground last night and wrapped it around his skinny frame. The warm leather was a shield for the boy, protection from this cruel world. It smelled like strawberries and pencil shavings, it smelled like protection and safety.

 

Peter pulled at the man’s thick fingers, careful to be gentle and not wake the sleeping man. He did not want to start a conflict with the daunting man, even if he had every right to the man he had stolen back from the small boy. 

 

The man shifted in his sleep, the steel toe of his boots loudly scraping against the concrete and his shirt shifting as his breathing became more labored. Peter turned his entire body, ready for a fight or to sprint away to safety. But the man did not wake up, and simply continued his labored breathing. 

 

The crinkled bills felt like sandpaper against Peter’s fingers as the boy pocketed the money, then turning to sprint back to the mouth of the alleyway. But before he could take a single step, the scent of beer was heavy in his nose and a large hand aggressively grabbed his shoulder. Peter was terrified to turn around, but he knew exactly what had happened. The man had felt the bills being pulled from his grasp. The man had woken up. 

 

“Well well well, look who thought he could pull a fast one on me.” The man’s voice was gruff, yet slightly slurred with intoxication. “Little whore thought he could run away with my well earned money.” 

 

Peter wanted to scream that it was his well earned money, but the boy kept his mouth clamped shut.

 

“Thought you could run away did you,” The hand shoved Peter forward and around, so the boy was now staring straight into his dark green eyes. “ well I’ll show you what happens to little faggots who try and run away from me.”

 

The man pulled his other arm away from the boy, his fist then coming hurdling back at his nose at full speed. Blood spattered every which way as the fist came down over and over again. Streams of crimson liquid pouring down onto the top of the leather jacket and staining the pink shirt. 

 

“Little faggot’s like you don’t deserve to get payed.” The man punctuated each word by landing his fist on the boy. His teeth were barred in a snarl and Peter twisted in white hot pain every time the fist connected with his face. 

 

“You weren’t even a good fuck. You’re a whiny little brat, nobody wants such a vocal little bitch”

 

The man had stopped punching him, but he was now doing something even more disturbing. His alcohol tinted breathe blew into his face, as the man’s tongue darted out to catch drops of blood falling from Peter’s nose. He nibbled the skin next to Peter’s mouth, biting until bruises blossomed to his skin and lapping the blood up like a cat did milk.

 

Peter flinched, desperately trying to get away from this heavy set man. He twisted his face up hoping it would deter the man. But Peter was held in place for minute after minute as the man assaulted him. As he stole Peter’s dignity and hope and happiness from him without any regret. 

 

“Disgusting” The man snarled at him as he finally pulled away from Peter; spitting in his face before clumsily making his way out of the alleyway with the stack of bills still grasped in his bruised fist. Peter tilted his head to the side in confusion when he saw the bruises. It was proof that the man hated him so much that he would bruise his own knuckles in his conquest to hurt Peter. He had such little respect for the boy, that he would dehumanize and devalue him to the point of putting his own well being on the line. 

 

When the man’s heavy frame finally disappeared, Peter let out a large sigh of relief. Tears and blood and the man’s spit all ran down his face, dripping past his paper white chin and onto his clothing. The bile at the back of his throat once again threatened to be released and this time Peter felt vomit spew from his mouth and all over the concrete of the alleyway. 

 

Peter wanted to sink into the ground, close his eyes and never leave again. He wanted to stop existing at this moment. He felt too gross to live, covered in someone else dried semen and spit and his own tears and snot and blood. He was too nasty for this world too broken and bruised and beaten down. 

 

But Peter knew he had to keep on going, if not for himself, then for his aunt. So the boy pulled the leather jacket tight, focusing on the smells of pencil shavings and strawberries. He felt the warmth surround his body as he used the back of his hand to wipe his face off. He would later find a public restroom to clean himself off completely in, but for now this would have to do. The boy could not continue on well feeling this disgusting, used and helpless. 

 

He felt like a car trying to run with no gasoline, a boy trying to live with no livelihood. If he had his phone, maybe he would call his mentor right now. Talk to Mr. Stark and explain the situation and beg for help. But he did not have his phone and the boy had no way of asking for help. So he resigned himself to exiting the alleyway finding a public restroom to get cleaned up in and counting this disturbing routine. He had to make money, he had to get May out of that house and he had to protect her. He was going to protect her if it was the last thing he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came out relatively quickly for me, so whoop whoop for that !!
> 
> My outline for this fic is shakey as all frick, but I'm still super excited to work on it :D
> 
> As always, I love getting comments and hearing feedback so pretty please consider leaving a comment.


	3. Half Alive

The lukewarm water spouting out of the tap was clear and felt almost cool and refreshing against the boy’s burning hot skin. It wasn’t that the water was particularly cool, in fact it was distinctly not cool, but his entire body had felt like it had been dipped in lava from head to toe. Peter feared his anxiety had caused him to become sick, his body feeling like it had been overcome by the feverish heat, but he also acknowledged that the heat may be embarrassment burning deep to his core. Embarrassment over being a young homeless prostitute cleaning up in a public restroom or due to the actions he had been forced to do the night before, Peter was unsure. But he knew he was embarrassed and it the emotion felt like it was branding his pale, shaking skin.  

 

The sight of the colorless liquid was soothing in comparison to the color the water turned the second Peter’s shaking hands dipped under the stream. The once colorless water turned dark and rusty with blood, little pieces of it sticking and getting caught in the slates of the drain. He knew he should be concerned by the blood. Blood was inherently and undeniably bad. Blood meant he was hurt and his body was so in pain it was physically bleeding. Blood sent a sign that he was not ok and when there was a lot of it, the starling red liquid should be a sign that he needed medical attention and help. 

 

But Peter didn’t have access to help and he certainly didn’t have energy to worry about a little blood or freak out at a moment where everything else in this world seemed to be crumbling and falling apart around him. On top of that, he was simply too tired, both emotionally and physically to put any energy into thinking about blood colored water or cuts that healed twice as slow due to his healing factor being mad at his malnourished body.

 

So instead, the boy scrunched up his nose at the concerning dark red tint to the water. His hands shook slightly more, but otherwise he ignored the blood. He rather opted to wet a clump of scratchy, brown paper towel (the type fast food restaurants in New York City always seemed to buy in bulk) and dragged it against the pale skin of his face- under his eyes mainly and the tops of his rosy cheeks. Peter wasn’t sure if he was attempting to clean himself of the last drops of dried blood still on his face or the disgusting man’s spit that still felt like acid burning his skin all these hours later. 

 

Peter still could not believe the man had licked the blood from his skin, like he was some sort of fucking animal. It had made him feel more ashmed than he had in his entire stint as an underage prostitute. And it was the moment he truly felt the most direly hopeless. It had been hours since it had happened, but regardless the boy still felt so undeniably dirty. He felt like his skin was crawling, like a million showers couldn’t ever make him feel clean again. 

 

Peter desperately needed to feel clean once again. When he felt dirty, he didn’t even feel human anymore. He certainly didn’t feel like Spider-Man, swinging through NYC and stopping crime with his high tech suit and web-shooters. Or a nephew who cooked his aunt blueberry pancakes every weekend morning when they had money for fresh blueberries and who watched project runway with her on Thursday nights instead of doing his homework. He didn’t feel like a friend who always worked with Ned on school projects or building legos and who stood up when the other nerds just like them were being bullied. He certainly didn’t feel like the protege of one of the richest, smartest men in the country. He felt like someone Mr. Stark would ignore and not even give the time of day to, because their lives didn’t even exist in the same universe. He was poor, Mr. Stark was poor. Mr. Stark was one of the most amazing, kind and smart people in the entire world and Peter was a little piece of shit, who sold his body on the street for money to get his Aunt out of a situation he hadn’t been brave enough to get her out of in the first place. Mr. Stark was good and Peter was bad- It was as simple as that. 

 

Disappointing Mr. Stark scared him more than just about anything else in this entire world. He loved Tony Stark almost like a was a dad to the boy. The man had helped him grow and learn and become better. He had helped turn a poor, self made vigilante teenager from Queens into a world class super hero who helped solve national level disagreements. Mr. Stark had been beyond generous with the man and Peter was paying him back by being a dirty, little whore. 

 

Peter sighed, drying his hands on his ripped (torn from use and not pre-torn in a weird fashion way rich kids adored), light wash jeans. They were rolled five or six times at the ankle in order to fit the small boy. He was also wearing a light purple cropped sweater in order to show of a strip of the milky white skin on his stomach; the men he catered too loved when he wore clothing that revealed  his skin to them. They preyed on it, loving the way you could count every rib in his sunken in stomach and how easily his skin would bruise when their fingers touched a little to hard- pushing and prodding and poking until he broke. 

 

On top of the short sweater, the boy was absolutely drowning in Bucky’s large leather jacket. It felt warm and heavy against his skin, keeping his head on and his feet planted on the ground. The smell of strawberries and pencil shavings and some old timey cologne only furthered the feeling, Peter felt guilty for taking so much comfort in the man’s jacket, but he couldn’t stop himself from basking in the safety and warmth it provided him. It made him feel safe. It made him feel protected. 

 

Earlier that day, the first step towards feeling clean had been retrieving a new outfit from the stash where he hid his clothing and other essentials on a rooftop of a high rise in lower Manhattan. He no longer felt like Spider-Man, but he still had his powers and powers came with the perk of being able to hide his stash in a place that could only be reached by scaling the side of a skyscraper and where no other homeless person would be able to steal it from. 

 

Due to his stash being so well hidden, Peter was able to keep more of the possessions he had acquired while living on the streets than the average homeless person could. He was lucky and knowing he had another outfit to change into certainly made it easier to throw out the pink shirt, because the sight of the cum-stained word ‘daddy’ made the boy want to vomit or perhaps claw his eyeballs out with a spoon. 

 

Changing into new clothing had additionally made the boy feel a little less grimy and disgusting than he had perviosuly. But only minimally so, and the boy still wanted to take shower. And a real one at that. All hot and soapy and long and not just a body shower with Walmart brand baby wipes or half wet wads of scratchy, brown paper towel in a fast food restaurant bathroom. 

 

Peter really was tempted to call Mr. Stark. He knew that at the base of his troubles, Mr. Stark would let him take a shower and it would definitely be a long, hot shower just like he was craving. Mr. Stark could help him buy clothing that wasn’t overly revealing and in addition the boy would be able to eat until he was stuffed and his stomach no longer gnawing, rumbling and caving in at the center. He was certainly sure Mr. Stark would help Aunt May out. He probably would go all out, attacking Evan or buying May an entire mansion where ever she wanted- but really they just needed some legal help. They needed a restraining order and maybe to take Evan up on some sort of domestic violence charges. 

 

The thing is, Peter wouldn’t call Mr. Stark unless it was the last option he possibly had. In addition to not wanting to take advantage of the man and the generosity of his wealth, Peter was terrified of letting the man he respected see him so completely and utterly broken. So no, Peter was not going to call Mr. Stark. He was going to handle this himself. He needed to handle this himself. 

 

The boy stared into the mirror in front of him, straightening his lavender sweater and pulling his arm up to his face. He took a deep breath, focusing only on the calming scent filling his nose. The calm smell however made more thoughts come to his minds. Thoughts of safety- of Bucky. 

 

Maybe, just maybe the man could help him even when he was in a place where he feared talking to his mentor. Bucky must view him far differently than Mr. Stark did, because he was unaware the Peter moonlighted as superhero in addition to being a high school student. Bucky had only seen him at his worst, so Peter did not feel the same pressures of living up to standards that felt miles and miles away from him. 

 

As much as he hated it, Peter knew he needed help. And regardless of the love he felt for his mentor, he knew he couldn’t get help from someone who would accidentally cause him to feel ashamed in the process. 

 

Peter’s hands were shaking even worse as he exited the bathroom. He kept his head down as the cashier, an older teenager clearly mad at working the late shift at his minimum wage job, yelled that he had to buy something because he used the bathroom and pushed onto the busy street. Peter honestly felt bad for not having the ability to buy something from the restaurant, his stomach certainly was mad at him, but he had no money to spare. After being robbed the previous night, he didn’t have money to spare on anything- including food. Everything had to go to getting May to safety and he wasn’t going to waste any of it on himself. 

 

The night air was cold and Peter pulled the leather jacket closer around his body, in order to both keep himself warmer by covering his midriff and make him feel safer. It almost made him feel like Bucky was giving him a hug, which caused a lopsided smile to break across his dainty features.

 

It was drizzling out and little droplets of water caught in his eyelashes and the curl of his hair. It made him feel slightly colder, but in a strange way Peter didn’t mind because it almost felt like the world was looking out for him and giving him a natural shower. 

 

The boy stood in that rain, watching it fall and catch and reflect on moonlight and street lamps mixing until a man sauntered up next to him. He was short, his stumpy legs thumping next to him and the click clack of his cheap dress shoes tapping impatiently.

 

“How much?” He asked, his voice gruff and his hands pulling at the clump of greasy hair sticking up at the sides of his large bald spot. 

 

When peter didn’t respond quickly enough, the man reached out and pulled Peter’s hair, tugging until the boy was staring straight into his eyes. “I said how much, you little whore. Do you think it’s cute to ignore me, boy?”

 

Peter quickly shook his head no. He didn’t want to piss this man off and he really did want his money. But his head hurt and his vision felt a little blurry and he was having a hard time focusing on anything. He then quickly stammered, “Umm, I uh, 40 for a BJ.”

 

The man sneered at him, never taking his eye’s off Peter while stealing unfolding his wallet. He pulled out two forty dollar bills, stepping forward and crowding Peter in his space. The man was short, but he still made Peter feel so small and helpless. 

 

“Here.” He said, hooking his fingers in Peter’s waistband and using his grubby little fingers to shove the money into the space between his underwear and skin. He then pushed Peter onto his knees. 

 

The sound of metal clanging as the man unbuckled his belt made Peter’s heart race even faster. His hand, which were firmly placed on the top of his legs, dug into his skin through the jenas. When he was not feeling enough release, the boy opted to move his hands down and dig his nails into the exposed skin of his knees. 

 

Dissociating tended to help him in these situations. It let him focus on anything but the feeling of being assaulted creeping into his veins like ice and fire mixing together.

 

But he was currently having a hard time detaching himself from this situation. Rather the boy was actually aware of the penis, as short and stout as the man, being shoved into his mouth and down his throat- mouth fucking him until he was choking and sobbing and crying out. He was aware of the hands in his hair, forcing him to go deeper and longer and faster and harder- pushing him past his viable limit and breaking him into what felt like a thousand pieces. 

 

He was quite aware of the fact that he was freaking the fuck out. He was aware of the spit sliding down his skin as he choked and sputtered and cried out, begging for the man to stop. He was crying now, trying to pull off and run as far away as humanly fucking possible. His hands were digging into the skin on his knee until little pools of blood gurgled up. But the boy couldn’t even focus on it, because he could only focus on the anxiety consuming his entire body and yelling at him to stop or run or do anything to fucking make it better. 

 

The man pulled his disgusting length out of Peter’s mouth, using his hand to jack off onto Peter’s face. The sticky white substance dripped down the boy’s skin- dripping through his thick lashes and down the slope of his cheeks and down his neck and onto the top of his light lavender sweater. 

 

Peter was conflicted on whether or not he should be glad or not when the man quickly rushed away. He was gone before Peter could even process it, because the boy was so far gone. His entire body was hunched in on itself as vomit splashed down the front of his body and onto the cracked concrete. It was everywhere, the rancid smell burning his tongue and nose and throat and every pore of his entire body. 

 

For all he knew, Peter could’ve been there for hours. The boy sat there, curled in on himself while crying and vomiting and panicking and losing every shard of sanity he already felt like he had lost. He was shaking, the rain having made him even colder, but he couldn’t it in himself to care. 

 

He wished Mr. Stark was there to wrap him up in a giant blanket and give him a hug while promising it was all ok. He wished Aunt May was there with her burnt cooking and skin that was not bruised and scarred by Evan’s hand. In a strange way, he even wished that Bucky was there. He wished that he could smell the strawberries or make get a hug or draw with the man or just do anything to make him feel better. 

 

But instead of the strawberries, all he could smell was the vomit all over his small, shaking body. And when he finally felt a little less panicked, he realized how disgusting the vomit was. How repulsive and gross and just truly disgusting he felt. Not only was he a disgusting prostitute, but he was a disgusting prostitute covered in his own vomit. A disgusting fucking prostitute who deserved nothing. He deserved nothing. Peter Parker deserved fucking nothing.

 

He couldn’t even protect his Aunt, so why would he deserve her love or Mr. Stark’s or Bucky’s. He didn’t deserve anything because he was fucking disgusting and didn’t deserve it. 

 

Peter felt like he was going to pass out at this point. He couldn’t even focus anymore, the self hate and anxiety and pain and the smell of vomit was all too much for him and he was done. 

 

Peter wondered how long it would take for his body to give up on him if he just laid here and did nothing. He wondered if it would take more time for his body to shut down or for somebody to hurt him. Would they even miss him when he was gone? Would May be ok without him? Would Mr. Stark miss him? Would Bucky even process that the small boy on the subway was simply gone one day? Would it even matter if he disappeared…

 

Peter closed his eyes and ran his fingers through the blood on his legs. He leaned across the wall of the alleyway he was in, focusing on the weight against his back and trying to ignore the feeling of vomit dripping down his skin. He was over caring and in this moment it felt like everything was slipping away from him. And the thing was, Peter was letting it slip away from him. He was watching his grasp on reality and entire experience in this world slip away like he was watching water swirl down the drain.    

 

Old Peter probably would’ve cared. He would’ve cleaned himself up and gone back to his stash and checked how much money he had and contemplate when he would have enough money to bring his Aunt. The Peter that didn’t even exist anymore probably would’ve not even had any of these thoughts. He would care about his math test or studying or maybe dealing with Flash picking on him and Ned. But that Peter didn’t exist anymore. And this Peter, the current pathetic Peter, was giving up. 

 

Peter Parker was fucking giving up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... I kinda haven't posted in three and a half months- BUT I'M BACK !! 
> 
> I'm super excited to be working on this fic again and I'm sorry it took so long. I made the mistake of having too many WIPs and just starting a ton of fics before finishing the ones I already had. 
> 
> But anyways, I'm really glad to be back !! Leave some comments, they really do motivate me to write more and make me feel appreciated!!


	4. Run, Run, Lost Boy

Peter blinked his eyes open blearily, chasing off the grips of sleep and sickness mixing together and consuming his entire being. He felt panic clawing at his heart, screaming at him to make sense of where he was and what was happening. 

 

Part of his mind was telling him not to even care. He had given up completely and at this point he didn’t care if he was alive or dead. He just wanted to onslaught of fear and pain and confusion to stop. He wanted to rest. He was tired. He was so fucking tired. 

 

Everything felt like too much to him and it was beyond overwhelming and he needed a break. He really fucking needed a break (from his life or life in general, the boy was unsure).  

 

Peter felt like a ghost as his exhausted body leaned against the cold, dirty wall of the quite tall building in the same alleyway as before. The texture of the wall against the back of his head was rough and scratchy and he banged his head against it a few times, trying to use the pain to simultaneously ground himself and punish himself for being such a fuck up and failing so hard at everything. 

 

He failed to keep his Aunt save from Evan, instead running away at the sign of any danger from the man. He failed at keeping himself save from Evan, letting himself be an abused little faggot, and he could never protect himself from Flash or other bullies either. He certainly didn’t protect himself from the men who raped him brutally and he was nothing more than a terrified little boy, stuck in a situation he felt like he could never escape from. 

 

He was Spider-Man, sure, but he felt far from the fucked up little gay boy he knew he was. He was broken and the bruises and scars on his skin reminded him of that fact daily. He couldn’t escape his sad reality even if he tried and at this point it felt easier to give up than try to fix it. 

 

He was a lost cause, a lost boy who would never be found. He feared that know one was looking for him, anyways. May was probably too scared of Evan to look and Mr. Stark had a million more important things to do than worry about some stupid little kid. Peter wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t fucking worth it. 

 

Peter was currently half passed out against the wall. His body was lethargic, every time he moved he felt his entire form shake, and his mind felt fuzzy. The stench of vomit was strong and acidic in his nose (and all around him for that matter) and every few seconds the boy would bring the sleeve of Bucky’s leather jacket close to his face. 

 

The smells of strawberries and pencil shavings and the man’s cologne mixing together were the only things grounding him to this moment. It was working for the most part, but everytime he pulled the sleeve away and the smell of vomit returned, he was terrified that he was losing it once more. 

 

Peter was terrified that he was occupying the space between the living and the dead. His body didn’t feel a hundred percent here and his mind screamed at him every few seconds. It scared him, but he was even more terrified to think that he didn’t quite care that he wasn’t feeling a hundred percent here and alive. 

 

Death should scare him. But at this point, death was inviting him like an old friend. He wanted nothing more than to fade away and he felt like he had very little to live for in this world anyways. What he did have left, felt so far away from the life he was currently living, that it was hard to remember them when he was feeling on the precipice of his own disaster. 

 

He was in a death grip tango with his own malnutrition and sanity; and the smell of strawberries, the promise of a warm hug from May and a ruffle of his hair from Mr. Stark was all he had left. 

 

Peter ran his fingers over the dollar bills in the space between his waistband and the bruised skin of his hips. It  felt surreal to feel his own skin, so real and tangible under his fingers. Being a prostitute, highly regarded as the scum of society, had made him feel half alive in the previous few months. And being faced with the undeniable fact that he was alive made the taste of acid hit the back of his throat and then vomit was splashing all over the alleyway once more. 

 

It felt like the millionth time he had thrown up in the past few hours and Peter feared that he was drowning in his own vomit.

 

The boy stared up at the stars through slitted eyes. It was nearly black in the alleyway, but the stars and street lights blurred in his vision and were reminders that he wasn’t truly alone. He was never alone in the city that never sleeps and there were monsters lurking in the darkness of the alleyways he frequented. 

 

When he was younger, Peter used to be scared of monsters hiding in the darkness or under his bed. Those monsters had teeth sharp and snarling, 8 sets of eyes and long claws that would snatch little boys up and drag him off to the darkness. His Aunt and Uncle would always remind him that monsters were not real and he had his Iron Man stuffed animal and toy mask to scare them off. 

 

When he was little it was easy to stand up to the monsters, especially when he outgrew the fear and could cope with the fact that they were not real. But Peter now knew that the monsters were very much real and his nightmares had turned into a reality. 

 

He know faced the monsters everyday. But these monsters were far different than the ones that used to haunt his dreams. These monsters had snarling teeth that bit until he bruised. They had strong grips and large hands and they forced Peter to do things that he hated, stealing every little bit of innocence from him and laughing when the boy broke. 

 

Peter shakily brought his head forward, from where it was leaning against the side of the alleyway. Suddenly and with great force, the boy slammed his head against the hard surface- smiling a sadistic smile as pain blossomed on the back of his head. The skin burned and tingled, but Peter hadn’t himself and he knew he deserved it. 

 

His vision was fuzzy and Peter’s entire body violently keeled over, even more vomit spewing across the ground. His vision was even more fuzzy at this point. Tears soaked down his face and black spots danced across his vision. Vomit soaked into the front of his sweater and a little bit splashed against the surface of Bucky’s jacket- making Peter cry even harder. 

 

Something was clearly wrong, but Peter didn’t care. The boy was torn between punishing himself further and simply giving up completely. How long would it take him to die if he closed his eyes and never opened them again?

 

Peter listened to the sound of cars on the road, mixing with the crumpling of litter under shoes ad oh god, was that footsteps in front of him. They were faint and it sounded like he was hearing them while under water, but he wasn’t sure if the footsteps were far away or if he was so injured that he had lost all concept of space. 

 

The footsteps were coming closer and Peter was felt as on edge as he could possibly feel in this state. He grit his teeth, tensing his muscles and preparing for a fight if worse came to worse. He was in no shape to be fighting, his entire body feeling like it was on fire ad his mind didn’t particularly have capacity for self preservation anyways. But he thought of May and Tony and how disappointed they would be if he died and he convinced himself to try to prepare for the worst. 

 

Hopefully it wasn’t another man looking for a young twink to fuck with no consequences. But if it had to be an another monster looking for a cheap, young whore, Peter hoped he would simply fuck him and leave the money in his waistband where it was. His body couldn’t take being used and abused further, but if had to be raped once more- he hoped they wouldn’t steal his money as well as his dignity. 

 

A small trickle of vomit cascaded out of his mouth at that thought, his body not even  having enough energy to throw up. He was exhausted and if another man appeared, he would beg them to kill him rather than hurt him. 

 

The footsteps were loud and pounding now and Peter cowered away from the sound. ‘This is it’ he thought to himself as he sluggishly cracked open his eyes. 

 

The sight in front of him made him dizzy with a combination of apprehension, love and confusion. His eyes watered with tears  (he wasn’t sure if they were happy or sad or just overwhelmed tears) and Peter tried to stand up and launch himself into the arms of the person in front of him. 

 

He was wobbly however, and he tripped forward instead- landing in the man’s outstretched arms. 

 

“Holy shit! Kid, is that you?” Bucky’s voice was full of concern, teetering on absolute confusion. His head was cocked to the side, long strands of dark brown hair falling into his face and tickling the top of Peter’s own head. 

 

“Sometimes, well sometimes I wander around late at night. I want to see how things have changed in so long,” Bucky looked pensive for a second, as if he wanted to speak more about the New York he remembered. But he shook his head as if remembering that Peter didn’t, or at least wasn’t supposed to know who he was and that he had been gone for so long from this time. 

 

Bucky shook his head once more before he continued to speak. “I find it therapeutic to just walk around and take it all in. When I feel like I am about to lose myself, it grounds me to know that I'm just a small piece of something so much bigger than only myself. I need to be reminded that I’m not alone in this crazy city and there are people going through as much shit or even more than I am.” 

 

Bucky started at Peter pointedly, as if darign Peter to say that he wasn’t going through as much as the man was. But Peter felt like his words were caught in his throat and he let Bucky speak without interrupting or adding on.

 

“I almost didn’t go out tonight  and when I did go out, I had no idea that i would wind up this far away from home. But my body was telling me something was wrong and that I needed to keep going. Which I know sounds stupid, but here we are and I’m beyond glad that somehow my body knew something was wrong.”

 

Bucky ran his metal fingers through Peter’s hair, letting the boy lean his entire weight onto him. Peter is glad because he is terrified that he might collapse if not for the man’s support. The adrenaline from seeing Bucky’s face is quickly wearing off and he felt more tired than ever. 

 

He was conflicted as well, not sure if Bucky being there was a good or bad thing. He tried to sort it all out in his brain, but his thoughts are going a mile a minute and his entire body feels like it is on overdrive. 

 

The boy was exhausted and wanted to sleep (or perhaps fade away entirely), but he was also clinging to Bucky like a lifeline he was not yet ready to give up. The man smelled like strawberries and Peter is clinging to Bucky like a koala bear and he just wants the man to make everything better- he hoped Bucky could fucking make everything better. 

 

“Oh god, kid. You look like terrible, I should have never let you go that day on the train. I was trying not to overstep or push you away, but I shouldn’t have let you go, regardless. I knew something terrible was happening to you and I should’ve stopped it before it went far enough that I found you in an alleyway looking half dead.”

 

For the first time, Peter became aware of how bad he looked. He particularly became aware  of the vomit smushed between their two bodies and he wanted to run away. He tried to squirm out of Bucky’s grip, but the man was holding on tight and appeared to never be letting go of Peter (the boy’s pretty sure he didn’t want Bucky to let go anyways). 

 

Peter whined slightly and Bucky loosened his grip slightly. “Sorry, kid. I’m not trying to hurt you and we can talk about this later, when you’re not feeling so yucky.”

 

Peter scrunched his nose up at Bucky, but silently agreed with the man. He felt in no shape to talk about anything more than a nap or a good shower. 

 

“Let me get you out of these dirty clothes, sweetheart.” The man whispered, tilting his head to the side in thought. “I’m not like those monsters who hurt you, but I don’t want to stress you out or cause you to panic.” Bucky chuckled, low and slightly unsettling, before he continued talking.  “I know a lot about panic and you’re too young a scrap to have the same sort of panic. But we’re not risking anything, so I want you to take off the sweater and jacket. We’ll throw that out and obviously you can keep the jacket.”

 

Peter didn’t have to be told twice, before he blearily stripped the sweater off. He tossed it in a heap on the ground and it landed with a loud plonk and rancid vomit spewed everywhere. He didn’t pay attention and instead passed jacket over to the man. 

 

Bucky smiled softly at him, instructing him to lean against the wall so that he didn’t pass out. Peter complied easily and watched the man with half lidded eyes. He shivered in the cold, late night, fall air, wrapping his arms around his midsection and moving to hit his head against the wall once more. 

 

“Don’t even think about it, punk.” Bucky hissed at the boy, as if using his psychic powers to know that Peter was about to hurt himself. 

 

He was upset at first, but as a few seconds passed he only felt warmth. It was refreshing to know that someone not only cared enough to not want Peter to hurt himself, but was also intuitive enough around him to know that it was about to happen. 

 

Bucky took his worn dark blue sweater off, revealing a soft looking black t-shirt underneath. Using his metal arm, he passed the sweater over to Peter. 

 

The boy was confused at first, unsure of what to do with the sweater. But with a quick nod of Bucky’s head, he understood that he should put the sweater on. His skin screamed as he moved to pull the fabric over his head and the boy let out a little groan. But otherwise he let the fabric fall and his small frame was engulfed in the warm fabric of Bucky’s sweater. It was so long it almost hit Peter’s knees and the boy cuddled into the warm fabric. 

 

It was the first time in months that Peter felt covered up and warm, rather than cold and exposed and a lopsided grin settled on his face. He felt like a cat, all warm and cozy as he nestled further into the fabric. 

 

His eyes were half open and now that he felt safe and warm and Bucky was in the dark alleyway with him, he felt himself finally relax even a little bit. He still felt terrified of the monster lurking in the shadows. He was scared that someone was going to come and hurt him- hurt them. 

 

But even if Peter didn’t feel like he was Spider-Man in this moment, he knew that Bucky’s training ran through his entire being and the man could protect them at a drop of a pin. Bucky would protect him, he had to. 

 

And now Peter was less exposed than he had felt in forever. He was wearing a huge sweater and Bucky had given him a hug and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be so alone anymore. 

 

Peter brought the sleeve of the sweater up to his nose, basking in the scent of strawberries- of safety. His eyes were half shut and his brain still felt fuzzy. He didn’t quite feel like he was going to throw up anymore, which Peter took as a small victory, but he didn’t feel good either. He wanted to sleep, for how long he wasn’t really sure, and he wanted a shower and food. He wanted to see Aunt May and Mr. Stark. He wanted to be ok again. He needed to be ok again. 

 

Peter felt like he blinked only once before Bucky was leaning against the wall next to him. “I know this is a lot to ask, punk. But I need you to trust me, right now. You’re really sick and I'm beyond worried for you right now, kid. I promise I won’t take you to the hospital or anything, because I know you’re young and probably not wanting to get reported or taken away of anything. But I am going to take you back to where I live, it’s discrete- for well, reasons.” Bucky coughed awkwardly, and if Peter was feeling more than half alive he would understand what Bucky was hinting at. 

 

A small voice at the back of his mind was screaming at him that he shouldn’t go back to whatever place the rouge Avengers were currently living. If Mr. Stark knew, he would have a heart attack and Peter was sure they wouldn’t be particularly happy if they found out he was Spider-Man. What if that bird superhero was there and kicked him out? Or what if he saw Captain America and the man hated him forever for stealing his shield? He wasn’t ready to lose the safety and he wasn’t ready to lose the feelings of safety that had settled over his body like a warm hug.  

 

Peter’s head spun and he curled his body up, dry heaving onto the pavement. He didn’t have time to worry, he was too tired and too sick, and he instead let his fears fade away. 

 

Bucky’s cold metal hand ran through Peter’s hair as he finished speaking. “I know you’re scared, punk, but I want you to close your eyes now.” He scratched behind Peter’s eats. Reaching forward to take Peter into his arms. “When you open them, I promise everything will be alright again, you just have to trust me.”

 

Peter smiled softly, letting his eyes fall shut and his body lean forward into Bucky’s arms. The man’s flesh arm was warm like a spring day in contrast to the cool metal one. His long hair brushed against his skin and he smelled like strawberries. 

 

Bucky used the back of his metal hand to vibe the small amount of vomit from the leather jacket and then he placed it on top of Peter’s shoulder’s like a cape. He nestled into the warmth and let his mind fade into the warm darkness of Bucky’s embrace. Bucky was going to protect him and even if it was a little scary, he knew it was going to work out in the end. It had to work out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in other news, I feel like every end note of this fic is me apologizing for not posting in three months... so whoops- that's a thing. Please forgive me for having too many WIP, challenges and just life in general kicking my ass. 
> 
> I really am so excited about this fic tho and I have SO much drama and Peter whump and secret identity angst and wow I'm excited. 
> 
> Leave me some comments, I read them all and actually a comment from today inspired me to finish this chapter and post it !!
> 
> Also I finally got my shit together and made myself a tumblr... it's also kianisabitch because I have zero creativity. So hit me up!!


	5. All My Friends are Heathens

Peter came in and out of consciousness at the rate in which raindrops hit the surface of a lake; disappearing into the depths of the murky water, and the darkness of sleep, every few seconds. He wasn’t sure he was existing in terms of reality and instead of measuring his sleep in time, he measured it in the feeling of the bed underneath his skinny frame. It had been so long, too long, since he had slept in a bed and he felt like he was drowning in a cloud. 

 

The soft purple comforter on the bed was his only lifeline to the world in these moments and he refused to surrender it when he felt a cool hand wrap around the blanket and then he heard voices speaking lowly in another room and then he was shooting up from the bed like he was electrocuted. 

 

Who were the voices? Where was he? Had he let a client take him home? Had the man fucked him in his own bed? What time was it? Was he ok? Did the man pay him? Was he allowed to leave? Was he in danger? If he was in danger, did he care?

 

The questions swirled in his mind like an out of control storm. He was so careful not to get lured into the traps of men taking him home. He wasn’t an amateur any more and he understood the implications of waking up in a stranger's bed. When he looked down he realized that he was wearing clothing much too large for him, clothing that did not belong to the boy, and that scared him even further. 

 

But in a strange way it calmed him down, because why would someone who raped him change him into their own clothing rather than leaving the younger male naked- a spectacle for roaming eyes and debauchery. And could he blame them? He was a fucking prostitute, after all. Every single inch of his body was screaming at him with self hatred due to that fact, but that didn’t change reality. Peter was a teenage prostitute. And a faggot. And a sexual assault survivor. And being abused. And homeless. And a mess. Peter Parker was a fucking mess and there was nothing he could do to change that. 

 

Peter glanced down at the too large shirt through slitted eyes and then it all came crashing back to him and he was crashing back into the pillow like he was a wave on the beach. The shirt was a plain black t shirt, but it smelled overwhelmingly of strawberries- of Bucky. And Peter knew that regardless of the anxiety already growing in his body, that he was safe. He was most likely in Bucky’s bed and the man, unlike so many other men his age, would never in a million years hurt or assault Peter. Bucky loved Peter and wanted to protect him and take care of him and Peter trusted him, he really fucking trusted him. 

 

The door to the room creaked open and Peter’s entire body tensed up as light streamed in through the little crack (partially due to the light making him nauseous and also due to the anxiety coursing through his veins). The boy wasn’t ready to meet anyone new and all wanted was Bucky to come through that door and give him a hug and promise that everything was going to be alright- he needed it to be alright. 

 

Peter’s wishes were partially answered as the door opened fully and three people walked into the room in some type of weird awkwardly shuffling line. The leader of the line was Bucky. He looked confident and the minute he made eye contact with Peter, he was across the room in a flash, settling himself onto the bed and pulling the fragile boy into a gentle side hug. Peter melted into the embrace and he would’ve stayed in the safety of the man’s arms if it weren't for the feeling of eyes on them and the uncomfortable prickle that he felt on his skin. 

 

So he pulled away from Bucky quickly. His affection, especially platonic affection with parental figures in his life, was never something Peter liked to put on display. He never wanted anyone to see him so clingy and dependent and he instead clung half his body to Bucky’s metal arm and focused on grounding himself to the moment by using the smell of strawberries and the scent of Bucky’s cologne. The smells reminded him of protection and safety and he prided himself in using his coping skills to focus only on the scents and never on the feelings of anxiety and dread coursing through his veins. 

 

He knew the other two men, oh god he knew them. But they didn’t know him, well not in this form at least, and he was terrified of them and mainly of their reactions. He assumed that stealing Captain America’s shield put you on the man’s shit list and if you’re on Steve Rogers’ shit list, well does that mean that the entirety of America was against you too? 

 

And don’t even get him started on the other man. Sam probably hated him after the stunt he played at the airport. He didn’t seem like the type of person to create friendships easily and Peter probably blew his chance the second he opened his mouth all those months ago.

 

He knew that they didn’t know who he was, but that didn’t mean that they would like him as Peter Parker any better. They would probably hate him even more for that matter. Steve Rogers hated all things illegal and un American. And Peter was an underage prostitute and homeless and a runaway and there were a lot of things the boy did that were very very very illegal and unsavory and all around disgusting. He was a disgusting human being. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgusting. 

 

Peter felt like he was going to throw up and this time it would be all over Bucky as well as himself and that was grosser than gross and would just prove that he really was disgusting. If he vomited all over the man, he would merely be dragging Bucky down to his life of filth with him and he cared too much about him to ruin his gentle appearance with the stains of Peter’s disgusting one. 

 

He never should have let Bucky bring him back here in the first place. It was a bad idea and he should’ve just found an alley to starve to death in, or a man to fuck him senselessly and beat him until he stopped breathing or bled out completely. Being in the warm bed, in new clothing and receiving a hug from Bucky, made him feel confident and loved and excited- but it didn’t completely stop the feelings of dread creeping into his system. 

 

He still hated himself and he was terrified of being stuck in the presence of Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Bucky Barnes; all men who were so much better than him and who would probably hate him as well, if they found out how disgusting he truly was.  

 

And then there was the matter of Mr. Stark. He was terrified of the man figuring out that he had gone to Bucky Barnes, a man he had deeply rooted trust issues with, and Steve Rogers, the issues were even worse between them, instead of him. But he couldn’t go to Mr. Stark in a million years, too embarrassed and empty and scared and self hating to dare stoop to the level of asking Tony Stark for help. And it wasn’t like he had gone out of his way to receive help from Bucky, he had fallen into the help and he wasn't even sure he wanted it; rather wanting to fade away completely and simply stop existing before everything became far worse and too hard to handle. 

 

“Kid…” Bucky’s soft voice floated into his mind and Peter recognized that the man must have been talking to him for a long time while he was caught in the rambling storm of thoughts in his brain. 

 

Peter tilted his head to the side and when he shifted against Bucky, the man let out a sigh of relief. In front of him, Sam was standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. His hands were folded in front of him and he looked to be deep in thought. 

 

In contrast, Steve sat on the bed and the man looked like an overgrown golden retriever puppy bursting with adorable energy and the need to get up and run. He looked nervous and Peter wanted to reach out and give him a hug, but he shook that thought of immediately because the only person he explicitly trusted was Bucky and this man had hurt Mr. Stark. Looking at him, it was hard to imagine the man hurting anyone and Peter wondered if this was more of a misunderstanding than either men would ever admit (regardless he would stick on Mr. Stark’s side forever though).

 

Bucky ran his metal hand through Peter’s soft hair, he fletingily wondered how his hair and became soft since he had no recollection of a shower but chalked it up to Bucky giving him some sort of strange sponge bathe, calming the boy instantly. 

 

“Alright, kid.” Bucky started speaking, but was interrupted by the boy within his arms flinching and then speaking.”

 

“Peter, my name is Peter.” The boy supplied, anxiously wondering if sharing his name comprised his identity at all. “I… well somebody else calls me kid a lot and I miss him and you can still call me that, I really don’t mind, but I also thought you may like to know my name as well.” 

 

Bucky cut of the boy before he could work himself into a state with his anxious rambling. “Alright Peter, that’s a very nice name by the way punk, I was going to ease you into meeting anyone new because I didn’t want to overwhelm you. But you’ve been coming in and out of consciousness for  a few days and my roommates are nosey and they found you within twenty minutes and they really want to meet you.”

 

Steve leaned his body forward. He extended his arm to shake Peter’s hand, but the boy flinched away terrified of being hit. And then Steve’s hand was being retracted and he looked sad and Peter felt sad and like he was drowning and little tears were pin pricking the back of his eyelids as he scrunched his eyes shut and then there slowly started to be more comfort then pain. Bucky ran the pad of his human thumb under Peter's eyes, catching teardrops as they came and he was sushing the boy while trying to coax him to open up his ‘big brown eyes’ once more. 

 

And when he did open his eyes, Peter want to scrunch them shut within a second when he saw the hurt look on Steve’s face. The man was now standing next to Sam, clearly scared of setting Peter off once more and the boy couldn’t blame him. He was terrified of men and regardless of Mr. Stark and Bucky feeling like good, solid people in his life, every time he saw a new man (especially large ones) he was terrified of them holding him down and foricbly raping him. 

 

“Punk, meet punk.” Bucky interrupted his thoughts and gestured between the two males. And then Peter was giggling because the thought of Captain America being the ‘scrappy punk’ from Bucky’s stories made him feel all fuzzy and warm inside. 

 

Bucky fluffed Peter’s hair.  “You think it’s funny, kid. But when Stevie was about your age, he got into as much trouble as you did. The two of you think shiners are a fashion statement and call me a mother hen, but I already failed with this one.” Bucky gestured at Steve and comically glared at the man. “And I refuse to fail with you too. You’re my do over, punk, get used to it.”

 

Steve looked mortified at Bucky’s little speech and he sputtered, trying to come up with an explanation. “I wasn’t that bad, Buck. I just, I like fighting more than the average chronically ill tiny person.”

 

Bucky was full out laughing by then and then Steve too and Sam and finally Peter. Bucky’s laughs were low and sweet like homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream churning or twigs snapping under hiking boots. Steve’s laugh was full and round and sweet like candy and Sam’s was lowly and gravely like a string bass and then there was Peter’s laugh, all hesitant and unsure and high pitched and sweet and all the laughs together sounded perfect and Peter felt like he was at home in a sense. 

 

When their laughing had all tapered out Sam introduced himself as well, but he kept his hands firmly locked in front of him and Peter’s ears tinted red at the deliberate display of the man clearly not wanting to scare him.  

 

“I’m Sam and I hate Bucky with a passion, but hating Bucky with a passion doesn’t mean I’ll hate his kid and you seem sweet, Peter.”

 

The boy’s entire face was now red at being called Bucky’s kid, but he couldn’t find it in himself to actually care. It was embarrassing to be referred to in that way, but it still felt nice and he felt beyond loved. 

 

Bucky squeezed Peter in a reassuring manner.  “Now that we’re all acquainted, I think the four of us need to talk. Peter’s heart sank, but he made no comment as Bucky continued speaking. “You’re a smart kid Peter and I know that you’ve probably figured out who we are by now and I want to give you an out right at the beginning. If you’re not comfortable staying here for whatever reason, I would be happy to find a homeless shelter that doesn’t report teenagers to CPS. I don’t think it’s your best option to be honest and I don’t want to give you up right when I got you here and in relative safety, but I also want you to be safe and happy; and if you stay here we have a few rules and stuff for not only our safety and well being, but also your own.”

 

Bucky stopped talking for a second, clearly giving the boy an in to say that he wanted to leave immediately. But when he didn’t, Bucky continued by explaining the rules Peter would have to abide be.

 

“For one, you can’t tell anyone who we are or where we’re hiding, I can’t protect you if I’m arrested or sent to some top secret facility to be detained. You also need to promise me not to make contact with any media or say anyone who may be looking for us, for the same reason.”

 

Peter’s heart felt like it was falling through his entire body and synching into the floor. There was no way they knew his connect to Mr. Stark, if only because who would think Spider-Man was a pathetic homeless teenage whore, but this sounded like Bucky was spelling out the fact that he was unable to talk to Tony while living here. It wasn’t like he even felt comfortable reaching out to his mentor at this point, but he still liked to leave the option on the table. 

 

Additionally, did this mean no Aunt may? He also hadn’t talked to her in the longest time and he was sure they would help if he informed them of the situation- but that would take trust he did no yet have. And the thought of returning to his apartment in Queens made him want to throw up or scream. 

 

He wasn’t even talking to either of the people he loved or cared about currently, feeling too trapped in a corner like a scared animal. And he wasn’t willing to ruin everything over whining about this rule, so maybe it was a good thing. Maybe he should just focus on living in the moment and maybe, just maybe letting Bucky help him get better. 

  
  


“In addition, I don’t want you leaving this apartment without one of us. I know that that sounds ominous and scary, kid, but I swear there is a reason. I love you a ton, but that love isn;t enough to stop my worrying and you haven’t earned my trust yet. I can’t risk you going off and getting beat to death or raped again, because you didn’t tell me that you needed money for something or because you’re scared or feeling trapped. Oh and that brings me to the next point. While you are here, we pay for everything. We are adults and you are a child and we are responsible for making sure you have what you need. We’re fugitives, so things are tighter than if we were billionaires.” Steve deeply chuckled at the comment and Peter wanted to scream, because he knew that it was rooted in animosity towards Mr. Stark. “but we will make sure you have food and new clothing and toiletries and the works and we will pay for you to feel safe here. ”

 

Peter’s stomach felt like a butterfly garden or more accurately, a butterfly stampeid. He was nervous about feeling trapped and confided and he was feeling like he wanted to run. Run. Run. Run. He wanted to run. But maybe this was a good thing and maybe he would be safe for once and months and Bucky loved him and maybe he should give this a try. 

 

So he went to open his mouth and agree to the terms and then hopefully find a shower, because he was still feeling gross and dirty and used. But before he could say anything, Bucky quickly added on to his previous statements. 

 

“Sorry kid, I have two more important things for you to understand. We have a few more… roommates” He placed the syllables of the word carefully.”That aren’t here right now and you need to be aware that they may be around in the future. I wanted you to meet Stevie and Sam because Steve is a punk and you two are so similar and well Sam here is a social worker who works with veterans who have PTSD, he is trained and I know that you’re not a veteran but you’ve clearly gone through a lot and I wouldn't be surprised if you actually had PTSD after all that crap. If you stay here it is important that you meet with Sam at least once every two days to talk about what’s going on in that amazing little brain of yours. And now I’m actually done with all the rules we wanted to lay out at the very beginning.”

 

The boy’s entire face flushed red. Peter wasn’t happy about the prospect of sharing his feelings with anybody, but he knew that it would most likely be helped and he truly wanted to stay in the apartment. He constantly felt like he was drowning and maybe Sam could help with that feeling and maybe he could help with Aunt May and Evan and the abuse and the fact that being raped felt like second nature to him by this point. 

 

Being raped was a horrible, atrocious act and it should never become so much a part of someone's life that the actions of ruthlessly being fucked by strangers fit him like an old coat.  He shouldn’t be used to the abuse and maybe Sam would help him break down the feelings that refused to leave his system. And maybe he would help with the hopelessness and the thoughts of death that swirled around his brain and invited him into the darkness like an old friend. It  wasn’t normal to spend so much time thinking about your own death, right? Or was he simply a symptom of living in a place where little boy’s got fucked and beaten by strangers and it was normalized and viewed as alright when it very much was not alright. It couldn’t be alright. He refused to let it be alright. 

 

With the heavy thoughts on his mind, Peter nodded his head once while staring at Bucky through thick lashes crusted with tears. But that wasn’t enough for the man. “I need verbal confirmation, sweetheart. This is a big deal and I need to make sure you understand exactly what you’re getting into here.”

 

“I want to stay, please let me stay.” He whispered into the air, his voice so quiet it might disappear in the spaces. 

 

“Alrighty then, “ Bucky smiled. “Welcome to the rogue Avengers, Peter. We hope you stay awhile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best chapter tbh, but it's a literal miracle that this didn't take three and a half months. Also I really needed to set up the next phase of the story and that took me writing dialogue and developing plot *shivers*
> 
> I'm super duper excited though because I can't wait to explore Peter feeling guilty living with the rogue avengers and missing Tony (who is basically his dad) and ahhhhhhh secret identity stuff. Also like Tony and Bucky being disaster co parents... I'm in love. 
> 
> Anyways, leave a comment- they make me so fucking happy and I read all of them !! OH and ummmmmm we're really close to 1k kudos and 10k hits and I feel so blessed, so thank you so much !!


	6. I Was Not Born to Drown

“So you’re Barnes’ kid?”

 

Peter’s head snapped up to stare at the source of the voice. He wrapped his hands nervously around the mug of hot chocolate Sam had made him, covering his palms with the long dark green fabric of a flannel Bucky had let him borrow before he had run out to get groceries. The man had offered to let Peter come with him or stay behind and make one of the other’s go, but Peter had insisted Bucky went. He didn’t want to be a burden to the man and regardless, he needed space. He needed time to process and he needed space to understand how much his life had changed in such a short amount of time. 

 

But his need for space was clearly being ruined as a man flopped down onto the couch next to him, clearly not understanding Peter's intense need for personal space. Peter stilled as the weight shifted the fabric of the couch. The boy’s heart felt like it was trapped in his throat and it was beating a mile a minute. He knew that he was safe here in theory, but he had only been here for a few short hours and that knowledge wasn’t concrete in his mind yet. He felt perpetually on edge, as if he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop- or more likely for somebody to pin him down and fuck him until he bled or beat him or leave him to die or simply forget that he was a living breathing boy that was good for anything but sex. 

 

The man was bulky and muscular and large and Peter found himself shrinking away from him. He tried to make himself smaller than he was and he slipped the flannel away from his palm. He hissed quietly as the soft skin burned when it came in contact with the mug, but only pressed harder. The pain helped him feel like he didn’t want to run away and it countered the fear coursing through his veins. It would be a long time before Peter was able to be around new men, especially those larger and older than him, without his body feeling hardwired to submit to sexual abuse or run as far away as humanly possible. 

 

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” The man asked, but he must’ve known Peter wasn’t going to respond because he simply continued to ramble away. “I never would’ve taken Barnes for the parental type, but here you are and damn is that man possessive.” 

 

The man leaned closer to Peter and the boy couldn’t breath. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t breath. 

 

“I tried to meet you when you first got here, but he wouldn’t let me within ten feet of you… which was hard seeing as we live in a tiny apartment with not a ton of space. And then when I tried to sneak in, he almost went all Winter Soldier on my ass.” The man tilted his head to the side and it was so close to Peter that the boy swore he could feel strands of hair on his shoulder. 

 

The man was chuckling at his own joke and it made Peter uncomfortable. What if ‘going Winter Soldier on your ass’ was a sex thing? Was this mystery man insinuating that he wanted to have sex with Peter? The boy shivered, he really hoped that it truly was just a joke. He certainly did not want to have sex with this man.

 

“He let the inferior birdie meet you, but not me,” The man pouted, letting out a large, over dramatic sigh. “But anyways, I’m Clint and it’s nice to meetcha!”

 

The man, Clint he reminded himself, stuck out his hand to shake Peter’s and the boy flinched so hard that burning hot drops of hot chocolate spilled from the side of the mug. Peter flinched in pain, his entire body shaking as he felt dragged from a state of panic to a state of understanding- of fear and well of more panic.  

 

Clint swore loudly and he reached to grab for the mug in the boy’s hand, clearly thinking that the priority was to get the hot liquid away from Peter. But the movement only made his fear worse and Peter found himself flinching so drastically that he fell off the couch all together. The mug followed him and then he was on the floor surrounded by burning hot liquid and sharp shards of mugs and he knew that he was being burned and cut, but he also knew that he had a job to do right now and he had to do it before the man hurt him. His mind felt like it had gone into overdrive and his body was working without his permission. 

 

Peter scrambled to get on his knees, blood mixing with the hot chocolate as his knees were cut open on the shards of broken mug. He knew that he should probably run away or hide or even focus on his body not being hurt, but all he could focus on was his job. He had one purpose in life and he was worthless if he didn’t fulfill it. 

 

His shaky hands flew up to Clint’s belt. He had to suck Clint’s dick and get it over with. If he didn’t suck Clint’s dick he was going to be kicked out. He needed to suck Clint’s dick. He needed to. They were going to kick him back onto the street if he didn’t and he was going to be homeless again. He was going to be all alone and he wouldn't have Bucky to be kind to him and he would never see Mr. Stark or his aunt ever again. 

 

“Holy shit!” Clint screamed at the boy, launching himself forward off of the couch and then cursing again when his bare feet came in contact with the broken mug. “What the fuck are you thinking kid?!” He screamed again and Peter’s entire body felt like it was breaking in half. Why was he getting in trouble for doing something he knew he had to do? It was his job after all. He knew what had to be done, he wasn't and idiot. 

 

“Oh god,” Clint held his head, pacing back and forth on his cut open feet as he tried to stay as far away from the cowering boy. He looked to be deep in thought and Peter's mind was screaming at him that the man was trying to come up with a way of most effectively kick him out. Peter was surprised that did not happen, however. 

 

“Sam!” Clint screamed so loudly Peter felt like he was going to cry. “I need you to come here right now, Sam!”

 

By this point, Peter’s body was half under the coffee table. He was cowering, terrified of both Clint and himself. He couldn’t believe he had messed up so badly within the first few hours of being here. He screwed it all up and he was going to be kicked out and it was horrible. It was so fucking horrible. 

 

Peter blinked his eyes, letting tears roll down the curve of his face and land on the floor in the puddle of blood and hot chocolate mixing together. He had messed up. Oh god, he had messed up. 

 

Through the fog of his blurry vision, Peter could see Sam crouched down in front of him. Dark hands were placed in front of him calmly, as if trying to assure the boy that he would not randomly attack. He was trying to psychically show Peter that he was in theory safe in a situation that he felt like he was spinning out of control in.  

 

“You’re safe here, Peter.” The man tried to soothe, but Peter shook his head vehemently. He wasn’t safe here and for that matter he wasn’t really safe anywhere. 

 

The only times he felt safe was when smelling the scent of strawberries wafting off of Bucky. Or when he was with his aunt, cooking her breakfast and watching crappy reality TV shows while she gave him a soft hug. He felt safe when Tony helped him in the lab and ruffled his hair, but fuck no. He did not feel safe here. He did not feel safe when he couldn't understand the cues from Clint and was terrified that he was going to be hurt over anything and everything.

 

He felt like he was drowning. Like he was a live end of a wire that would never connect to anything and perpetually feel charged and electric. He felt like he was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of somebody’s shoe or a flower who had been yanked from the root and thrown in the trash all within the same day because it wasn't beautiful enough for a boutique. He felt worthless and dirty and disgusting, but he did not feel safe. How could he feel safe when everyone who loved him and cared were either out buying groceries or in danger of being beaten to death by an abusive boyfriend or probably tearing his hair out trying to find his spiderling that had disappeared into thin air? 

 

“That’s it, kiddo.” Sam’s voice was quiet and his hands were still in front of him in a placating gesture. “Take deep breaths. Clint left and Steve just called Bucky and he’s only a few minutes away from home. You just have to wait that long and then I promise you’ll be ok."

 

Peter blinked heavily, tears falling like raindrops in a thunderstorm. Bucky was coming. Bucky was good. Bucky was going to save him. Bucky was going to save him. Bucky was going to save him. 

 

Peter wasn’t sure when he had adopted such a large hero worship of Bucky Barnes. It scared him to an extent, knowing that he cared about the man so deeply. But he let that feeling fade away, because when the man entered the apartment Peter hit his head on the bottom of the coffee table in his attempt to launch himself at the man as quickly as humanly possible. 

 

The boy’s arms closed around his neck and Bucky picked the smaller boy up, holding him above the ground with ease. In the process, the man dropped his three bags of groceries. A bottle of orange mango juice landed on the floor with a loud thud next to a package of hamburger rolls, sliced cheddar cheese and a box of strawberry poptarts. But neither Peter nor Bucky commented on it and they only focused on the feeling of being in each others arms. 

 

The man smelled strongly of strawberries and the scent was intoxicating. It was everything the boy needed to feel calm in this world and he focused on inhaling the sweet scent and feeling the cool metal of the man’s shoulder. Bucky was wearing a long sleeve sweater and thick leather glove to hide the metal, but Peter found himself tearing away at the top of the shirt until there was more metal exposed. He pressed his face against the cool texture, finding comfort in the way it felt against his hot, tear stained face. 

 

Catching on, Bucky used his teeth to remove the glove and then used his cold metal hand to ran his fingers through Peter’s hair and forehead. “What happened?” He seethed over the boy's shoulder at Sam, who was out of Peter’s eye line, but was no doubt still standing in the room.

 

He noted that he was right when he heard Sam sigh, it was a deep and rumbling sound, and then start to explain. “I’m not exactly sure what was happening before I came in, but… well, I think he thought that…” 

 

The man was stuttering and Bucky placed Peter gently on the ground, instantly taking the boy’s hand and pulling him to sit with him on the couch. Peter curled up pretty much entirely on Bucky’s lap and he gestured for Sam to sit next to them. The man complied and Peter found himself curling into Bucky’s lap even further- only feeling safe when he could smell the strawberries and feel the metal cool against his heat. 

 

“Can one of you please explain what happened?” Bucky’s voice was no nonsense and Peter gulped. He however knew that the man was going to do nothing cruel to him and that he was safe with Bucky.

 

“I… well I thought Clint wanted a blow job,” Peter could hear Sam gasp next to him and he ducked his head as he rushed to finish explaining. “It turns out Clint probably didn’t want a blow job.”

 

Bucky sighed so largely, Peter could feel his entire metal arm shaking and rattling and whirring. He shook his head at the boy and muttered “Oh god, kid, you didn’t.” 

 

Peter was confused, he was so damn confused. Why was Bucky upset at him? He hadn’t broken any of the rules. They had insisted on paying for everything for Peter and he was just trying to pay them back for their generosity. How was he supposed to know that Clint wouldn’t want a blow job? All men wanted blow jobs, right? Well at least the men he had met had wanted them. Most of the men in fact, had wanted much more than a blow job. Most men wanted to fuck him and hit him and hurt him. And maybe they were upset because he didn’t let Clint fuck him. He didn’t want the man to fuck him, but he would let him if it meant he could stay. He really fucking wanted to stay.  

 

“I was just trying to do my job.” The boy whispered, trying to make the entire thing sound positive and necessary to his existence in this apartment. “I just wanted to be good for you guys because you’re being so nice and letting me stay here with you and I know that it can’t be cheap and I thought that if I gave you something in return, something that wasn’t money because I know you don’t want money, well I thought that it would be ok. I thought you guys would be happy with me.” 

 

Bucky was radiating negative energy, his entire body shaking and his metal hand clenching and unclenching. He looked like he was about to start speaking, but Peter was genuinely surprised when Sam starting speaking instead. 

 

“Alright, ya no… that's not a thing” He sighed, cracking his knuckles and then sighing again. “Welcome to therapy session number one, kid. Do you want Bucky to stay?”

 

Peter was confused by the turn of events, but would rather die than let Bucky leave so he quickly nodded his head. He needed Bucky's support, he couldn't do this without the man.

 

“Sounds good.” Sam tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace and Peter winced at the expression. “Now, can I ask you why you thought Clint wanted a blow job?”

 

Peter squirmed on Bucky's lap, he thought the answer was obvious and he felt uncomfortable having to spell it out. But Sam was looking at him expectantly and he felt like he had to answer the man. “Because he’s a man and all men want blow jobs….” His voice trailed off at the end because he did find a small amount of fault in his logic. 

 

“So if Bucky asked you for a blow job, you would give it to him?” Sam replied, his voice steady but his face giving away a small hint of displeasure at what the man had said to him. 

 

Peter felt like he wanted to vomit. Of course he wouldn’t give Bucky a blow job… he probably wouldn’t give Sam one either. He really wouldn’t give Mr. Stark one, certainly. And god, if Steve asked for a blow job he may vomit. 

 

“Of course not, Bucky doesn’t count!” Peter’s tone was indignant and he flattened his face against the man’s metal arm. He wanted to add that Mr. Stark didn't count either, wanting to make it very clear that Mr. Stark was a good man, but he decided that it was probably a bad idea. 

 

“Well then,” Sam cracked his fingers.”why would you give Clint one?”

 

Peter ran his fingers over the flannel, he was feeling stumped and unsure. He wanted to explain that Bucky didn’t because, well because he was Bucky. But the boy feared it would sound stupid and Peter wasn’t even sure what he meant himself. 

 

A thought popped into his head. “Because Bucky is safe,” he leaned into the man’s arm, smelling strawberries. “He makes me feel safe.” 

 

Bucky ran his flesh hand through Peter’s hair, as if to say thank you. The boy leaned into the touch. It was the first time he was really appreciating how safe Bucky made him feel and he felt like a flower right after it blooms. He felt like he was on cloud nine. Somebody cared about him and it was the best feeling in the entire world. 

 

“That’s definitely a start, kid.” Peter glowed at the praise from Sam. “It makes sense that you feel like somebody who makes you feel safe wouldn’t want something like that from you. But, I want to get you to the point where you realize that nobody sane and normal and healthy should ever want a blow job from a child or anyone unwilling. And furthermore, I want you to truly understand that it’s not your job to be abused and hurt and…”  

 

Sam floundered for his next word and Peter supplied it. “Raped… I understand that I am being raped.” He spit out and Sam looked confused and worried and a tiny bit thankful. 

 

“Exactly.” Sam had schooled his expression into a straight face, clearly not wanting to harm the boy further. “You know what it is, kid, so why would you think someone like Clint or anybody at all would have the right to do that to you.”

 

Peter frowned, “Maybe because it’s my job, and it’s not like anybody cares about me anyways. I’m a homeless teenage whore, I have a shitty life and that’s that. But I have to do it to keep food in my stomach and to keep Au-”

 

Peter cut himself off before he could dig his own grave. He couldn’t tell them about May. If he told them about May they would send him back and if they sent him back Evan would kill him, he was sure of it. The only thing worse than telling them about May would be telling them about Mr. Stark- about Spider-Man. If they found out about Mr. Stark maybe they would kill. They would certainly kick him out and then he would be truly, 110% alone. 

 

Sam looked torn between pushing Peter and explaining why he was incorrect. His face was teeming with pent up energy and Peter wanted to avoid the questions. He couldn't tell them about May, no matter how much he wanted to. 

 

Luckily Bucky had had enough of his own silence and he cut into the conversation. “Being raped isn’t a job, Peter.” He seethed, pulling the boy impossibly closer. “And even if it was, it’s not your job. You’re not as you so kindly put it some ‘homeless teenage whore’, you’re a young man who is being taken advantage of by creepy rapists and predators and pedophiles because of your situation, who for the record has a home here for as long as he needs one. I care about you so much Peter, and I have such a rocky past that my love and care doesn’t come easily, but I promise that I do love and care about you. I want you to succeed and I’m going to help you because I care. I care about you so much, kid.”

 

Peter felt so overwhelmed by his emotions that all he could manage to do was softly whisper. “You really mean that? You promise?”

 

Bucky squeezed Peter close, “Of course I mean it.” 

 

Peter felt warmth spread throughout his entire body. Bucky loved him and cared about him and was going to make sure everything was ok. Bucky cared. He really really really cared about him. 

 

Sam sighed next to them. “I think we made good headway today and I’m comfortable ending our little session here, especially since it was impromptu and you weren't prepared. But before we do, I need to make something very clear.”

 

Peter nodded his head before Sam continued talking. “No one here is ever going to do anything to you like those horrible men on the streets did. Nobody is going to force you to do anything sexual or non sexual that you’re not comfortable with and you are safe here. We should’ve introduced you to everyone ahead of time in order to prevent a situation like this and that was our fault, but I swear this will never happen again.”

 

Peter was unsure if he truly believed that Sam was right. But it was easy to go along with it and pretend like he wasn’t scared out of his mind or felt like this was all on him and how disgusting he was. 

 

“Alright,” Peter agreed softly after thinking it over. “But is it ok if I meet everyone else that lives here too, because I really don’t want something like this to happen again and I don't want to freak out over anyone new .”

 

Bucky and Sam were staring at each other in a way that looked like some sort of secret code. And then Bucky smirked, “Movie night?”

 

Sam shook his head, chuckling slightly. “Kid gets to pick the movie though because I don’t want World War three between Scott and Clint, but Movie night definitely sounds good.”

 

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Clint insisted while bursting into the living room from the kitchen. Peter wonders if he was listening in the entire time, but he can't find it in himself to actually care. “I’m just opinionated.”

 

Peter was glad he was still sitting on Bucky's lap and the man still had his arms wrapped around him, because if not he was scared that he was going to freak out at the large sound and start the cycle all over again.

 

Sam sent Clint a look and he whined. “Fine, maybe I am a little bad when it comes to movie night. But it’s not really a super bad thing or anything... I just like crappy spy movies, instead of the stupid rom-coms Scott prefers." 

 

Bucky gave him a look as well and Peter found himself giggling. Their interactions were domestic and cute and funny and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was at home. It felt like a sort of makeshift family and sure it was a little broken, but he was here and they were together and that was all that mattered. 

 

“Shut up, pipsqueak.” Clint stuck his tongue out at the boy while teasing him. 

 

If this was even an hour ago, Peter feared that he would fall apart at being told to shut up. But the boy now understood that it was said from a place of teasing affection and it made him feel more positive than negative. It made him feel like he was part of something and that the people around him really cared about him. And strangely, very strangely, he had a home. 

 

“Not everyone is here yet, but do you know what movie you want to watch when everyone gets back?” Sam directed his question towards the boy, pointedly ignoring Clint. "That way we can avoid tic tac and bird brain getting into a brawl over the remote." 

Peter often had a hard time asking for what he wanted and needed. He didn’t want to be a burden or make people uncomfortable. He was used to being quiet and humble, keeping his head down and his lips sealed. He didn’t want to make a fuss or make anyone uncomfortable or unhappy based off of what he wanted. But the way that they were looking at him expectantly, smiling softly and encouragingly, made Peter want to confide in them what he really wanted. It made him feel like a normal kid getting to share a little part of himself with people who genuinely cared . and not fearing that anything would set them off. 

 

“My favorite movie is Star Wars The Empire Strikes Back.” He mumbled softly, getting ready  for them to react poorly and for him to take it back and pretend like he didn’t have a favorite movie or that he didn't care at all. It also filled him with apprehension because that was the movie Mr. Stark and him had watched most frequently together and it reminded him of his old life, of spending time with someone who he missed dearly.  

 

Surprisingly, no one had a negative reaction and Peter beamed at the fact that he wasn’t being shot down. He felt like there were stars in his eyes and a warmth filled him from his head to his heart to his toes. 

 

“That’s a perfect idea!” Bucky ruffled his hair, “I know that Stevie wants to see the Star Wars movies as well, so we can maybe make a marathon of it over the next few days.”

 

Peter leaned into the contact of the hand, his entire body feeling warm. “Do you,” He paused, unsure if he was able to request something so frivolous. But he took a leap of faith and continued his question. “Do you think that we could maybe have popcorn?”

 

Clint whooped loudly. “Definitely, kiddo! And we can have ice cream and soda and twizzlers and skittles and cheez-its and…”

 

“Alright Clint,” Bucky almost yelled, cutting off the man before he could continue his snack rant. “We can definitely have popcorn kiddo,” He turned to Clint, playfully glaring. “We don’t need to sugar up the kid completely.” He then looked to Peter and winked, “But we can definitely do a ton of snacks.”

 

Peter didn’t understand how he had gone from the streets to bickering about snacks with the rogue avengers in such a short amount of time. His entire life had turned around like lightning striking or a rubber band snapping and he was safe here, he was so safe here.

 

Bucky ruffled Peter’s hair. He missed Tony so much, but maybe this was going to be ok. Maybe he simply had to move on from May and Mr. Stark and his old life and get used to this one. They clearly cared about him here, so why not take advantage of the situation? He was safe and for once in his life he wanted to just feel young and happy and healthy. 

 

The thought that neither of them were Tony or May, the most important people in his entire life, nagged at the back of his mind. He was leaving behind a whole life and set of people that truly cared about him and wanted him to be happy. He was leaving behind lab days with Mr. Stark and breakfast with Aunt May. He was leaving behind school and his friends and academic decathlon. He was leaving behind his bedroom and his lego sets and his childhood Iron Man stuffed toy and pictures of his deceased parents. 

 

But he was gaining love and support. He was gaining access to therapy with Sam and movie nights and a warm bed and food and clothing that kept him covered and safe. He was gaining love and hugs and cuddles from Bucky and he was gaining safety and a home. He had spent so long on the streets, being raped and hurt and in danger and now, now he was safe. 

 

“Snacks sound perfect,” Peter smiled, leaning on the cool metal arm. “But I think I like Clint’s idea of snacks better.”

 

Bucky chuckled, “Of course you do, kid. You little sugar demon.” 

 

“I’m not a sugar demon!” The boy insisted and Bucky chuckled.

 

“Whatever you say, kid. Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly so proud of this chapter, it's a whopping 4.7k and has a ton of dialogue and I got to explore how badly Peter's time on the streets fucked Peter up. I can also just imagine all the rogue Avengers just being like "so Bucky adopted a kiddo and now he lives here and the kid is depressed and really broken, but cute at the same time and we wanna help" ... and also lap sitting is the absolute cutest. 
> 
> I love hearing ideas (throw them at me pls and thanks) and your comments make me ridiculously happy !!
> 
> (( I'm also gonna shamelessly use this opportunity to hype a project I'm working on. I'm organizing an Irondad gift swap on tumblr and would love if any of y'all wanted to participate !! I feel a little guilty plugging it, but I also think it could be fun and wanna get it out there. This is the link if you're interested: https://irondadgiftswap.tumblr.com/ ))


	7. The Calm Before the Storm Set it Off

Peter stuffed a handful of skittles into his mouth as the others appeared in the doorway of the living room. Their large frames looked dwarfed in proportion to the small archway and it made the boy feel intimidated as the mass of chewy candy stuck to his teeth and the roof of his mouth. He knew that he had asked to meet the other ‘roommates’, but that didn’t mean the boy wasn’t shaking with fear at the prospect. 

  


Peter was terrified of meeting the others for so many reasons. He was scared that they would hate him and kick him out. He was scared that they would make him leave for good or comment on his and Bucky’s relationship and make the closeness between them appear weird or unnatural. And if they found out about Spider-Man and confronted him about the fact that he fought them in Germany and was so attached to their enemy, Peter was terrified that even Bucky would never speak to him again. 

  


He was also scared that they would be mean about Mr. Stark in ways that made the boy want to curl up into a ball and scream. Maybe they would see right through him to the scared little boy that  was missing his aunt and his ~~dad~~ mentor and make fun of him for being so vulnerable and weak. Everyone was always telling him how much he was like Mr. Stark. How much he looked like him and acted like him and he knew the people here hated Mr. Stark so what if they hated Peter by  proxy or simply hated people that acted like Tony. He wasn’t sure he could deal with people hating him for acting like the man he loved like, well like a father.   


  


Most of all, Peter was terrified of being held down and fucked and used until he was bleeding and sore and dirty and disgusting and every time he met knew people these fears seemed to consume his entire being. They appeared nice and sweet, but he felt the underlying dangerous energy in the air and he was scared of what would happen if they snapped and decided they did want to hurt the boy. 

  


Bucky pulled Peter closer into his lap, running his metal hand through the boy’s hair in a reassuring manner. He smelled like strawberries and cologne and comfort and Peter reminded himself that Bucky always had his back no matter what. 

  


Clint was currently sitting perched on the back of an armchair across the room, clearly wanting to give the boy space. Peter didn’t blame him seeing as he had been trying to give the man a blow job in some crazy, vulnerable rape victim head space only an hour earlier. But it still made him feel uncomfortable and too heavy and out of place in his own skin. It made him feel broken, as if he would never get better. He was terrified of being stuck in the same self hating, terrified, broken headspace for the rest of his life and it made him want to scream. He felt broken and he fucking hated it. 

  


Steve was the first to move, correctly assessing that Peter would probably be most comfortable with him seeing as they already met. The large man planted himself on the couch between Sam and the human pretzel combination which was Bucky and Peter. He kept his hands firmly planted on his knees, but gave Peter a warm smile, which the boy tentatively returned. It made him feel like crap to process the fact that Steve was scared of setting him off again, but he was also thankful that the man was being so careful around him. Peter hated being treated like he was made out of glass, but boy could he shatter.

  


After Steve so confidently entered, the three remaining people looked like they  were deer caught in headlights before they quickly scrambled to sit down in various places across the room. They didn’t look that scary but Peter still felt himself tense with fear as they spread out.

  


A medium height man with fluffy hair and warm eyes planted himself on the floor directly in front of the couch facing the direction of the men sitting on it. He looked kind and fatherly and he didn’t scare him in the way most men did. He was bordering middle aged and looked slightly too old for the way he curled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, but Peter could recognize the self comforting position anywhere. Peter wondered if the man was anxious to meet him or just anxious in general; or perhaps the man was simply reading the cues of the room and understood the anxiety that was present in every one of the boy’s muscles and his facial expression, that appeared to be more of a grimace than anything else by that point.  

  


However, the grimace became softer at the edges when Peter spotted the two women moving swiftly across the room. The younger one planted herself in the chair Clint was perched on. She appeared to be in her early twenties and Peter was struck by how similar to him she appeared. Her hands shook every few seconds and Peter swore he saw little sparks of red thick and static like electricity in the red every several shakes. From behind her, Clint reached out to to pet the girls hair soothingly and it reminded the boy of the parental way Mr. Stark had pet his own hair so many times. But Mr. Stark wasn’t here right now and he didn’t want to fall down that rabbit hole of thought and he only focused on the feeling of Bucky’s cool metal hand in his hair; it wasn’t Mr. Stark, Bucky never could be Tony Stark, but at least it was something and it made Peter feel safe and loved and trusted. 

  


Peter nearly started crying when he saw the other woman squishing herself between Sam and Steve on the large couch. He felt his heart beating faster because this beautiful woman reminded him of May in a way  that he couldn’t quite process or understand. And not only did she remind of his Aunt, well she also was so familiar and Peter was confused because he thought this woman was on Tony’s side and now emotions of both his missing parent figures were haunting him like ghosts and he wanted to scream. 

  


Bucky squeezed him tightly in his arms and Peter wondered if his symptoms of panic were truly that visible within his body or if Bucky had a superpower and was able to understand when he needed help or comfort. Regardless, he accepted the comfort and focused on the man’s breathing pattern in comparison to his own. 

  


Sam was the first to speak, his voice warm and sweet like honey in peppermint tea. “So Peter,” He gestured vaguely to the people who had entered the room. “This is the rest of the motley crew. We got the overexcited puppy dog on the floor,” The man gave him a little wave, “Scott. The sulky girl over there is Wanda and the woman who has attached herself to my side is Natasha.”

  


Peter squeaked out a small hello, simultaneously not sure what to say and not wanting to be rude at the same time. This caused the man on the floor to chuckle and then Peter felt his emotions slightly loosen. He was still scared, but Scott seemed nice and women didn’t scare him nearly as much as men did and he had Bucky and it felt like he was at home. 

  


“Is there anything else anyone wants to say while we’re all here?” Sam posed the question after a few minutes of silence and at first Peter thought no one was going to say anything at all. But then Clint was speaking softly, placing every word carefully like they would set the boy off or scare him away. 

  


“I just want to remind everyone here that Peter is a guest with some special needs and we should do our best to make him feel at home and safe.”

  


There was a small spark of red from Wanda’s fingers as she shifted to stare at the man behind her and then towards Sam and finally on Peter. “Is there anything special I need to know in order to make him, you,”  she directed the last word towards Peter alone, “feel safe.”

  


Surprisingly, it was none of the people the question was directed to that answered at rather Bucky. “The kid has been through a lot and he may think that he owes us things, but we need to remind him that he is our guest and child and we are adults and can take care of it.”

  


Peter squirmed in the man’s lap as Wanda nodded slowly in understanding. “Sometimes….” Peter’s voice was low and unsure, “I think people want things from or are soliciting me to you know… have sex with them or something if they’re mad or speak in a certain way and when I get in that mind set it’s really really hard for me to say no or stand up for myself.”

  


Wanda looked like she was going to puke all over the floor at his words. Her mouth kept on opening and closing like a fish out of water, but no words came out. Red light sparked at her fingertips and Peter sunk into Bucky’s embrace because he was beyond terrified. The man held him tight, providing comfort and physical pressure and the sweet smell of strawberries and Peter focused on the way it made him feel in control and less like he was spiraling and falling and drowning all at once. 

  


Peter was scared they were going to kick him back out again, leave him to the streets and the cruel reality of his world. But there was only silence and no screaming for him to get out and Peter felt like maybe, just maybe things were going to be ok. The silence however, felt interminable and heavy and thick and Peter wanted to scream because it made him uncomfortable and want to burrow into Bucky’s chest and never show his face again. 

  


But then Scott was speaking and it felt like things are slotting back into place again. “So what movie are we watching?”

  


The tension broke like glass shattering. Everyone was back to smiling earnestly and Peter stuffed another handful of skittles in his mouth because he just wanted to enjoy the feeling in the room and doesn’t want to speak again- doesn’t want to ruin anything. 

  


He feels like he has spent forever being a dark storm cloud on people’s happiness and on his own happiness for that matter. Every inch of his body perpetually screamed at him that he was ruining everything. Every experience, every relationship, every moment of happiness ruined because he was a freak and dumb and stupid and the reason everything in this world was bad and wrong and stupid and- 

  


Bucky pulled him close, whispering in his ear. “You’re thinking too loud” and then saying to the room in a louder voice, “We’re going to watch Peter’s favorite Star Wars movie, I know Stevie also wanted to see it so I think it’ll be fun.”

  


Steve smiled tightly, “I do want to see it, but you’ll have to excuse me for the first bit.” His hand reached into his pocket and the man pulled out an old, beat up flip phone. “My phone has been going off all night and something tells me it’s important,” He sighed, exhaling breath for nearly a minute before he added. “This phone is only for the important calls.”  

  


Everyone around him seemed to tense uncomfortably and Peter was confused. It felt like everyone around him was in on some secret that he wasn’t in on and it made him feel uncomfortable and nervous. Sensing this, Bucky squeezed the boy. “Alright, let's get cracking with the movie.”

  


Sam already had the remote in his hand and he pressed play before anyone could comment or make a fuss. The couch shifted as Steve got up during the opening theme and Bucky caught the man’s wrist in the hand that wasn’t playing with Peter’s hair. “Give him hell, pal” He whispered and Steve chuckled.

  


“You know I will.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh ok this makes me feel vulnerable because it's short and not my best chapter but necessary plot development, and foreshadowing and characterization and all that jazz .... also free cookies for anyone who can guess who was on the phone with Stevie :)
> 
> Leave a comment, they make me happy!


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